


The Story of H

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams), dkwilliams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Heavy BDSM, Infidelity, M/M, Multiple Partners, Unusual Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tells his lover an erotic fantasy story over five successive nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: The Lovers and the Castle

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES: This is presented as a story within a story: Harry is describing an erotic fantasy that is also an allegory if you will (don't groan - it's a lot more fun than Lit class ever was) and letting his imagination run wild.  
> Author's Notes: Written for the [Classic Canon Challenge ](http://www.remembrall.slashcity.net/fiction/classiccanon.html%22) I chose "The Story of O", which Harry is using as the basis for the story he is telling. Any structural oddities in the erotic tale are probably because I'm taking a story originally written in French, translated into English, and then changed to HP-verse with appropriate gender changes.
> 
> OVERALL WARNINGS: Extreme content. If you have read/seen "The Story of O", you know what to expect. If you *haven't*, then you should be aware that this story involves Sadism/masochism and Dominance/submission in which the main character has given prior consent to be his lover's slave, but after that has two choices: accept whatever his lover dishes out or leave the relationship. Also, the submissive is not in this for sexual satisfaction or endorphin high's, but rather to explore the idea of complete submissiveness. It is not PC, it is not "Safe, Sane, Consensual" although it is probably RACK (risk-aware, consensual kink). In no way should this be considered a blue-print for real-world BDSM, although there are probably people who play in a similar way. This story is a fantasy, and passes no moral judgements either way of those choosing a master/slave BDSM relationship.
> 
> THANKS to my beta editors: Rebecca, Bertina, Trismegistus, Veronika, and I Got Tired of Waiting. You helped me pull together a work that was much more complicated than I originally thought, and I really appreciate the help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART 1 WARNINGS: You read the WARNINGS on the summary, right? I'm serious - this story has Extreme Content and this part is probably the heaviest of the five. Involves multiple partners, forced sex, whippings, and elements of cross-dressing. Also, the subs are often called "boys" and "girls" throughout this section; they are, in fact, of age and not minors. They are called this to distinguish them from the masters and prefects - one of the problems when converting from a male/female story to a male/male story is the reduced number of pronouns available.

Harry sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, leaning back against his lover's legs. He was enjoying the feel of his lover's fingers carding through his unruly hair, easing away the headache brought on by a long day at work. His lover could see that Harry's lips were curved in a smile and a dreamy expression was on his face.

"What are you thinking?" his lover murmured, not stopping his caressing.

Harry flushed slightly, turning his face up toward his lover's for a brief moment before looking back at the fire. "Just thinking about some things...and, er, fantasizing."

His lover studied the colour staining Harry's cheeks with amusement. "Thoughts worth sharing?"

Harry's blush deepened. "It's rather involved and...well...very naughty."

"Harry Potter having erotic fantasies? Whatever will Witch Weekly think?" his lover murmured. Harry whacked him in the leg and he grunted. "I'd like to hear it."

Harry gave him a questioning look. "Even if it involves other men and some rather kinky things?"

"Harry, I know the difference between reality and fantasy. Go on."

Harry took a deep breath. "All right. I call this 'The Story of H', and this is the first part."

***************************

**Part 1: The Lovers and the Castle**

Perhaps the story starts this way.

His lover one day takes H for a walk in a section of London where they never go - a little park between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. After they have taken a stroll in the park, they sit together on the lawn and watch the other people. It is autumn and coming up to dusk, and there are clouds in the sky that indicate rain before too long. H is dressed as he always is in trainers, jeans, T-shirt, and casual robes, with his wand tucked into its holder. He is a little surprised that none of the Muggles seem to notice his unusual attire, but his lover says there's a Glamour over the park.

As they sit, they notice a car parked three-quarters of the way down 9th street, at the corner of the park. It resembles a Muggle taxi but none of the Muggles appear to see it, as if a magical barrier exists between it and them.

"Get in," his lover says. "This will take us to the place I told you about."

H and his companion get in. The taxi drives off slowly, his lover not having said a word to the driver. His lover waves his wand and obscures the windows on both sides of the car as well as the back window. H leans closer, thinking his lover wants to kiss him, but his lover gently pushes him back.

He says, "You have on too many clothes. Remove your trousers."

By now the taxi has picked up speed, and H has some trouble removing his jeans but he's afraid that his lover will think he's changed his mind if he doesn't obey. He's also afraid the driver may turn around while he's undressing. Finally, though, his shoes and then his jeans are removed.

"Your pants as well," his lover says.

That's easy enough now; all he has to do is slip his hands beneath his robes and raise himself slightly. He's embarrassed to feel his legs naked beneath his robes.

His lover takes the pants and trousers from him, shrinks them, and puts them into a pocket of his own robes. Then he says, "You shouldn't sit on your robes. Pull them up behind you and sit directly on the seat."

H obeys. The seat is made of some sort of imitation leather, which is slippery and cold. It is quite an extraordinary sensation to feel it sticking to his thighs. He shivers, uncertain if it is a pleasant or unpleasant feeling.

Then his lover says, "Now put your shoes back on."

The taxi is still moving along at a good clip, and H doesn't dare ask why they are sitting there without speaking. Nor can he guess what all this means to his lover, having H sitting there - motionless, silent, exposed - in a car going Merlin knows where. His lover hasn't told him what to do or what not to do, so he sits with his hands braced on either side of the seat.

"Here we are," his lover says suddenly.

The taxi drives through large, ornate gates and stops in front of a large building that looks like a castle, the type of private home one finds among old Wizarding families. There are torches burning on the walls beside the door, but that is some distance away and it is still fairly dark inside the car. Outside it is raining.

"Don't move," his lover says. "Sit perfectly still."

He unbuttons H's robes and H thinks his lover wants to fondle him. But no, he is slitting the seams of H's T-shirt with a small penknife, then he removes the shirt and buttons the robes back up. Now, beneath his robes, H is naked from neck to ankle.

"Listen," his lover says. "This is where I leave you. You are to get out and go ring the doorbell. Follow whoever opens the door for you and do whatever you're told. If you don't obey immediately, they'll force you to. Your wand? No, you have no further need for it. Yes, of course I'll be there. Now run along."

**

Another version of the same story begins in a simpler way.

H, dressed in the same way, was in the Muggle car with his lover and a friend. It doesn't matter what the friend's name was - it could be Percival or Brian or Wulfric - but H's lover's name is Draco. The other man was driving, Draco seated next to H, and it was the friend who explained to H that his lover had been entrusted with the task of getting him ready. That his lover was going to tie his hands behind his back, remove his trousers and pants and shirt, and blindfold him. That he would then be turned over at the castle, where in due course he would be instructed as to what he should do.

And, in fact, as soon as he had been thus undressed and bound, they arrived at their destination. They helped H to alight from the car, guided him up a few steps and, with his blindfold still on, through one or two doors. When his blindfold was removed, he found himself standing alone in a dark room where they left him for half an hour, or an hour, or two hours. H couldn't be sure how long it was. It seemed forever. Then, when at last the door was opened and the torches on the wall sprang to life, he could see that he had been waiting in a very unusual room. There was a thick rug on the floor but not a stick of furniture, and all four walls were lined with closets.

Two handsome young men around his same age opened the door. They were dressed in strange robes belted around the waist instead of falling freely. The necklines were low-cut, and the bodices were tight, laced in front, sharply defining their chests. Below the bodices, the robes were full and long enough to conceal their feet. They were wearing kohl around their eyes and lip-gloss. Both wore close-fitting collars and had tight bracelets on their wrists.

At this point, they freed H's hands, which were still tied behind his back. They told him to get undressed as they were going to bathe him and make him up. They proceeded to strip him till he hadn't a stitch of clothing left, then put his clothes away neatly in one of the closets. Then they took him into a bathing chamber. He was not allowed to bathe himself. It took more than an hour, and as they did his hair and make-up, he was seated on a chair, naked, and they kept him from either crossing his legs or bringing them together. Since the wall in front of him was covered from floor to ceiling with a large mirror, unbroken by any shelving, he could see himself each time his gaze strayed to the mirror.

When he was properly made up and prepared - his eyelids pencilled lightly, his lips glossy, his nipples highlighted with pink, perfumed oil applied to his skin, and his passage oiled (H blushed at that; he had rarely been touched there, even by his lover) - he was led into a room where a three-sided mirror enabled him to examine himself closely. He was told to sit down on the ottoman which was the only furniture in the room and wait. He was wearing red slippers and nothing else.

H looked around the room. Set in one of the walls of the small room was a large window that looked out onto a lovely, dark park. H stared out the window and saw that the rain had stopped. He had no idea how long he remained in that room, whether he was really alone as he surmised, or whether someone was watching him through a peephole camouflaged in the wall.

When the two boys returned, one was carrying a dressmaker's tape measure and the other a basket. With them came a man dressed in a long purple robe, full at the shoulders. When he walked the robe flared open, from the waist down. One could see that beneath his robe he had on some sort of leggings that covered his legs and thighs but left the sex exposed.

It was his sex that H saw first when the man took his first step, then the whip made of leather thongs that he had stuck in his belt. Then he saw that the man was masked by a black hood which concealed even his eyes behind a network of black gauze, and finally, that he was also wearing fine black kid gloves.

He told H not to move and ordered the boys to hurry. The magic tape took measurements of H's neck and wrists. Though on the small side, his measurements were in no way out of the ordinary, and it was easy enough to find the right sized collar and bracelets in the basket the other boy was carrying. Both collar and bracelets were made of several layers of leather, though no more than the thickness of a finger. They had clasps that locked automatically when closed, and they could be opened only by means of a small key. Embedded in the layers of leather was a snugly fitting metal ring.

So they fastened the collar and bracelets to his neck and wrists, and then the man told him to get up. He took H's place on the ottoman and called him over. The man's gloved hands slid over H's nipples, down his body, and then he pulled H to lie face down across his knees where he was fondled for a while before the man slid a finger into his oiled entrance. H squirmed, uncertain if what he was feeling was pleasurable or not. When the man at last let H stand again, he explained that H would be presented that same evening, after he had dined alone. Then he left, and the two boys went with him.

H did, in fact, dine by himself, still naked, waited on by an invisible servant. Finally, when dinner was over, the two boys came for him. They fastened the two bracelets together behind his back, attached a long red cape to the ring of his collar, and draped it over his shoulders. It covered him completely but opened when he walked since, with his hands behind his back, he had no way of keeping it closed.

They crossed through several rooms and went into a salon where four men were having coffee before the fireplace. They were wearing the same long robes and leggings exposing their sex as the first man, but no masks. H did not have time to see their faces or ascertain whether his lover was among them, for one of the men shone a light into his eyes and blinded him. Everyone remained still, the two boys flanking him and the other men in front, studying him. Then the light went out and the boys left.

H was blindfolded again, then they made him walk forward until he felt that he was standing in front of the fire around which the four men were seated. He could feel the heat from the fire on his stomach, and in the silence he could hear the quiet crackling of the burning logs.

Two hands lifted his cape. Two others, after having checked to see that his bracelets were attached, descended the length of his back and buttocks. The hands were not gloved, and one of them penetrated him so abruptly that he cried out. Someone laughed.

Another man said, "Turn him around so we can see his sex and nipples."

They turned him around and the heat of the fire was against his back. A hand seized one of his nipples, pinching it, and a mouth fastened on the other. He lost his balance and fell forward into arms while they opened his legs and gently spread his cheeks to examine his passage. Then they made him kneel down on the floor, knees spread apart to display his sex. He was extremely uncomfortable in this position, especially because they forbade him to bring his knees together and because his arms pinioned behind him forced him to lean forward.

One of the men spoke. "Does he know why he's here?"

"I've told him a little." That was Draco's voice; H instinctively turned his head in his direction. "But he's rather naive so I doubt that it all sank in."

"You've never tied him up?"

"No, never."

"And never whipped him?"

"No, never whipped him, either. If he had a taste of it, I thought he might begin to like it. That's no good at all, not unless you get past the pleasure stage to reach the tears."

They made H get up and were on the verge of untying him in order to attach him to the wall, when one of them protested that they should take him first, right there on the spot. So they made him kneel down again, this time with his chest on an ottoman, his hands still tied behind him. Then one of the men, holding him with both hands on his hips, plunged into his body, taking his pleasure within a few short strokes. The man taking him yielded to a second, and then a third who, driving hard, made H scream and fountain his release. When this man let him go, H slipped to the floor only to feel someone's knees against his face, and he realized that his mouth was not to be spared.

Finally they let him go, left him lying on his back in front of the fire. He could hear glasses being filled and the sound of the men drinking, chairs being settled into, quiet conversation. The noises sounded so far away and muffled that it was as if they existed in another world, not the one where he lay, soiled and sweaty. Hands were touching him, fondling him, but in the darkness of his isolation, it was as if someone else's body was being fondled.

Suddenly they removed his blindfold. The large room, the walls of which were lined with bookcases, was dimly lit by a single torch and by the light of the fire. Two of the men were standing. Another was seated, a riding crop on his knees, and the one leaning over, fondling his nipples was his lover. All four of them had taken him, and he had not been able to distinguish Draco from the others.

The men explained to H that this was how it would always be, as long as he was in the castle. During the day he would see the faces of those who tormented him, but never at night. The same would be true when he was whipped, except that this first time they wanted him to see himself being whipped and so he would not be blindfolded. They, on the other hand, would don their masks, and he would no longer be able to tell them apart.

His lover helped him to his feet and made him sit down on a chair near the fire so that he could hear what they had to tell him and see what they wanted to show him. They pointed out a long beam that rested atop two columns along one of the walls. In the middle of the beam was imbedded a hook, just high enough for a man reach while standing on tiptoe. They told H that his hands would be untied so that they could be fastened anew to this hook. Attached like this, he would be able to see the blows coming, to anticipate them before they fell.

They told him that tonight he would be whipped only on the thighs and buttocks. There would be ample time for him to scream, to struggle, and to cry. They would grant him some respite, but as soon as he had caught his breath they would start in again, judging the results not from his screams or tears but from the size and colour of the welts they had raised. They told him that this method of judging the effectiveness of the whip made it pointless for the victims to exaggerate their suffering in an effort to arouse pity.

There was no question of using a gag that night. On the contrary, they wanted to hear his screams, and the sooner the better. They attached him to the hook with a long chain, then began striking him with the whip.

The pride he mustered to resist and remain silent did not long endure. They even heard him beg them to untie him, to stop for a second, just for a second. So frantically did he writhe, trying to escape the bite of the whip, that he wound his chains almost completely around one of the columns. As a result, his belly and the front of his thighs were almost as marked as his backside.

After stopping for a moment to consult, they made up their minds to begin again only after he had been tied to one of the columns, his arms wrapped around it in a parody of an embrace. From then on the blows landed on their target, unless aimed deliberately elsewhere.

H did not appeal to his lover for aid. Even if he had known for sure which hooded man was Draco, his lover had already confided to him that he took pleasure in extracting, or having others extract, this proof of his ability to make H suffer so cruelly for his love. Given the way Draco had handed him over, H knew that to beg him for mercy would be the surest method of making him double his cruelty.

One of the men, seduced by the available behind which was straining at the bonds, a behind made all the more enticing by its efforts to dodge the blows, called for an intermission in order to take advantage of it. He spread the two cheeks and penetrated - not without some difficulty - remarking as he did that the passage would have to be rendered more easily accessible.

They all agreed that this could, and would, be done.

When they finally untied H, he staggered and almost fainted. Strong arms caught him, easing him down into the chair by the fire. H looked up; they had removed their masks and his lover held a cup to his lips. He drank thirstily. Draco softly caressed his hair, smoothed his scar with the tip of his finger, and kissed him on the lips. In a soft voice, he told H that he loved him.

H, surprised to note that he was trembling, answered, "I love you," and he knew that it was true.

Draco pulled him close and called him darling and sweetheart, and told him that he'd done very well. He kissed H on the neck and the cheek. Very softly, he repeated to H that he loved him, and very softly added, "You're going to kneel down, caress me, and kiss me."

H slipped out of his chair and knelt down on the rug. Draco said, "Say it again. Say 'I love you.'"

There was warmth and approval in Draco's eyes, and H repeated, "I love you," with delight before he opened his mouth and took Draco's sex within. He was barely aware of the other three men as they gathered around them, commenting on his gestures, on the movement of his mouth as it closed and locked on the sex he had seized, as it worked its way up and down, on the way tears streamed down his face each time the swollen member struck the back of his throat and made him gag. H could hear the comments made by those present, but more clearly he heard his lover's moans as he caressed him carefully, slowly, and with infinite respect, the way he knew pleased him.

H had always felt reluctant to perform this act upon his lover, but this time he gloried in it. His mouth was beautiful since his lover condescended to thrust himself into it, to caress it, to finally deign to discharge in it. He received the proof of his lover's pleasure as a god is received, heard Draco cry out and the others laugh.

Then he was allowed to sink back down on the carpet and find oblivion.

**

When he came back to himself, the two boys he'd seen earlier had returned bearing two sets of clothing. There was some discussion as to the colour before they settled on robes of sea-green satin to match his eyes and set off the pallor of his skin. The boys assisted him in rising to his feet, wiped his stained body with cool clothes, and then helped him dress. His outfit was similar to theirs: a long robe with a bodice gathered tightly at the waist. The low-cut neck scarcely concealed his nipples which, raised by the constricting bodice, were only barely covered, and the robes fell to cover his feet.

When H was dressed and resettled in the chair beside the fire, one of the men called the dark haired boy over and, holding him by the waist with one hand, lifted his robes with the other in order to demonstrate to H the practical advantages of the costume. All one needed to keep the robe raised was to tuck it into the waistband, which made everything that lay beneath readily available. He had the boy show H how to keep his robe tucked, either directly in front to expose the sex, or in the middle of the back to leave the buttocks free. In either case, the robe's skirt fell diagonally away in large, cascading folds. Like H, the boy's backside bore fresh welts from the riding crop.

Now the men outlined for H the rules and conventions he was to follow during his stay in the castle and later in his daily life after he had left.

The man who had asked Draco if H had ever been whipped spoke. "Before we tell you of the rules, I remind you that you came here of your own free will. No one forced you to come and no one is forcing you to stay. If you wish to leave, you may. For the last time, do you wish to leave?"

H looked at Draco, saw the love and pride in his eyes, and then looked back at the man. He shook his head. He would stay.

"You are here to serve your masters. During the day, you will perform whatever domestic duties are assigned to you, but at the first word or sign from any master, you will drop whatever you are doing and ready yourself to service the master. Your hands are not your own, nor is your sex, nor, most especially, any of your bodily orifices, which we may explore or penetrate at will. You will remember at all times that you have lost all right to privacy or concealment, and as a reminder of this fact, in our presence you will never close your lips completely, or cross your legs, or press your knees together.

"This will serve as a constant reminder, to you as well as to us, that your mouth, your sex, and your backside are open to us.

"During the day you will be dressed as you are now, and if anyone should order you to lift your robes, you will lift them. If anyone desires to use you in any manner whatsoever, he will use you, with the exception of the whip. During the evening you will be naked, as you were earlier. The whip will be used only between dusk and dawn, at the pleasure of the masters or as punishment for any infractions of the rules committed during the day.

"You must never look any of us in the face. The costume we wear in the evening leaves our sex exposed so that your eyes will be directed there upon it and nowhere else, so that you may learn that there resides your master, for whom your lips and body are intended.

"On those nights when no one desires you, you will wait until the prefect whose job it is comes to your cell and administers what punishment you are due. Both this flogging and the chain attached to the ring of your collar to keep you confined to your bed are intended to remind you that you are not free but fettered, and to teach you that you are totally dedicated to something outside yourself.

"When you leave here, you will be wearing on your third finger a ring that will identify you. By then you will have learned to obey those who wear the same insignia, and when they see it they will know that beneath your robes you are constantly naked, and that this nakedness is for them. Should anyone find you in the least intractable, he will return you here. Now you will be shown to your cell."

While they were talking to H, the two boys came over to H who realized that he was supposed to get up and follow them. He therefore got up, gathering his robes in his hands to keep from tripping, for he was not used to long robes and did not feel steady on the slippers which kept slipping off his feet. As he bent down to secure them, he turned his head. The men were no longer looking at him. His lover was seated on the floor against the ottoman over which H had been thrown at the beginning of the evening, with his knees raised and his elbows resting on them. He was toying with the leather whip and when he felt H's eyes upon him, he lifted his head and smiled.

H's heart was lightened. He had passed this first test and Draco was pleased with him. He could endure all else, could endure anything, knowing that.

**

The two boys led him out into the hallway and down a seemingly endless set of corridors. His slippers echoed on the tiles and he noticed that the hallway they'd entered was now paved in red. This apparently had some meaning because one of his companions said, "You're in the red wing, and your prefect's name is Oliver."

"What is a prefect?" asked H.

"One of the older chaps, not a master but not one of the boys like us," he explained. "They have the keys. They're the ones who will chain and unchain you, and who will whip you when you are to be punished."

H was struck by the lilting tones of his voice. "What's your name?"

"Seamus," he replied, with a slight smile.

"Mine's Dean," said the second.

"I was in the red wing last year," Seamus said. "Oliver was there already. He often came in at night. The prefects have the right to use any of us in the rooms of their section."

H was about to ask what kind of person this Oliver was but he did not have time. As they turned a corner of the hallway, the two boys made him halt before a door similar in all respects to the others. Sitting on a bench between this and the following door he noticed a man with dark hair. He was dressed in a shirt whose lace frills peeked out from beneath his black vest, which itself was covered by a black robe. He had black breeches, white stockings, and black boots. He too was carrying a leather-thonged whip in his belt.

He took a master key from his vest pocket, ushered the three boys in, and said, "I'm locking the door. Ring when you've finished."

The cell was quite small. On one wall was a door that opened into the bathroom. Opposite the bathroom was a large window looking over the garden. Against the left wall, between the doors and the window, stood a large square bed that was very low and covered with furs. There was no other furniture, no mirror. The walls were bright red, and the rug gold. Dean pointed out to H that the bed was less a bed than a mattress on a platform covered with a golden, fur-like material. The pillow, hard and flat like the mattress, was of the same material. The only object on any of the walls was a thick, gleaming steel ring that was set into the wall over the bed. From it, a long steel chain descended directly onto the bed, its links forming a little pile.

"We have to give you your bath," Seamus said. "I'll unfasten your robes."

In the bathroom, every inch of wall space was covered with mirrors. Dean and Seamus did not allow H to go in until he was naked. They put his robes away in the closet next to the washbasin, where his slippers and red cape already were, and remained with him while he bathed.

"You're lucky," Seamus said as he washed H's hair.

"Why lucky?"

"Wasn't it your lover who brought you here?"

"Yes," H said.

"Then they'll be a lot harder with you."

H frowned. "I don't understand."

Seamus smiled. "You will very soon. I'm ringing for Oliver. We'll come and get you tomorrow morning."

Dean smiled as he left and Seamus, before following him, caressed the tips of H's nipples. H, completely taken aback, remained standing at the foot of the bed. With the exception of the collar and leather bracelets, he was naked.

"Behold the lovely boy," said the prefect as he entered. He seized both of H's hands, slipped one of the bracelet hooks into the other so that his wrists were tightly joined, then clipped both these hooks to the ring of the necklace. Thus H's hands were joined as in an attitude of prayer. All that remained to be done was to chain him to the wall above the bed. Oliver shortened the chain so that H was forced to move to the head of the bed where Oliver made him lie down. The chain clicked in the ring and was so tight that H could do no more than move from one side of the bed to the other.

The prefect pulled the cover up over H, but not before he had lifted his legs for a moment and pushed them back toward his chest, to examine the cleft between his cheeks. He did not touch him further, did not say a word to him, but instead called "Nox!" to extinguish the torches and went out.

Lying on his side, alone in the darkness and silence, hot beneath the layers of fur, H tried to figure out why there was so much sweetness mingled with the terror in him, or why his terror seemed itself so sweet. He realized that one of the things that most distressed him was the fact that he had been deprived of the use of his hands. Not that his hands could have defended him (and did he really want to defend himself?), but had they been free they would at least have made the gesture, have made an attempt to repel the hands that had seized him, the flesh which pierced his, to protect his buttocks from the whip. H's hands had been taken away from him.

And his body beneath the fur was inaccessible to him. How strange it was not to be able to touch one's own sex! Although the whipping he had suffered earlier had not aroused him, his memories of that torment did. Not that it was to any purpose. The flesh between his legs, his now-rigid sex was forbidden to him, and his anal passage ached. Perhaps it was aching because he knew he was open to the first comer, to the prefect Oliver, if he cared to enter. He was surprised that the whipping he had received had left him so untroubled, so calm, whereas the thought that he would probably never know which of the four men had taken him first and whether it had been his lover quite distressed him.

And why, if he took the memory of the torture he had gone through so lightly, found it arousing in reflection, why did the very idea of a whip make his heart beat wildly and his eyes close with terror? He was overwhelmed with panic at the knowledge that it would be repeated. They would pull on his chain and haul him to his feet on the bed, and they would whip him, whip him...the word kept turning in his head.

Oliver would whip him; Seamus had said he would. You're lucky, Seamus had repeated, they'll be a lot harder on you. What had he meant by that?

As H pondered these things, he forgot that anything existed outside of this place, this room. He no longer felt anything but the collar, the bracelets, and the chain; his body was drifting away. He fell asleep.

**

In the wee hours of the night, just before dawn when it is darkest and coldest, Oliver reappeared. He lit the torch in the bathroom, leaving the door open so that a square of light fell on the middle of the bed, on the spot where H's slender body was curled, making a small mound beneath the cover, which silently he pulled back. Since H was sleeping on his left side, his face to the window and his legs slightly drawn up, the view he offered was that of his white flanks which seemed even whiter against the fur.

Oliver took the pillow from beneath his head and said politely, "Would you please stand up?"

When H was on his knees, a position he managed by pulling himself up with the chain, Oliver gave him a hand, taking him by the elbows so that he could stand up straight with his face to the wall, his feet solidly planted on the bed. H felt Oliver's left hand on his waist. At the same time, he heard a whistling noise in the semi-darkness and felt a terrible burning across his back, and he screamed.

Oliver flogged him with all his might. He did not wait for H's screams to subside, but struck him again four times, being careful each time to lash him above or below the preceding spot, so that the traces would be all the clearer.

"Please be good enough to turn around," Oliver said, and since H, who was completely overwhelmed by the pain, failed to obey, he took him by hips and turned him around. When H was facing him, Oliver moved back slightly and struck his crop against the front of his thighs as hard as he could, shocking H into piteous moaning. Then he extinguished the torch and left.

The whole thing had lasted no more than five minutes. H was left moaning in the darkness, swaying back and forth along the wall at the end of his chain.

Trying to distract his thoughts from his pain, he turned his mind to his lover. Where was Draco sleeping, the way he loved to sleep on quiet mornings? In what room, in what bed, and with whom was he sleeping? Was he aware of the pain to which he had delivered H? Was he the one who had decided what this pain would be? H hoped so, hoped that Draco knew what he would willingly suffer for him. If torture was the price he had to pay to keep his love, then he only hoped Draco was pleased that he had endured it.

The man who finally came into H's cell was dressed in a leather jacket and was wearing riding breeches and boots. H thought he might have been the man who had first seen him, the man with the mask and gloves. H met his gaze for what seemed to be an endless time and then, suddenly freezing, he remembered it was forbidden to look at the masters above the belt.

He closed his eyes, but it was too late. He heard him laugh and say, as he freed H from the chains, "There will be a punishment for that after dinner." He said something to Seamus and Dean, who had come in with him and were waiting on either side of the bed, after which he left. Seamus picked up the pillow and blanket while Dean wheeled over a serving table on which were coffee, milk, sugar, bread, and butter.

"Hurry up and eat," said Dean. "It's nine o'clock. Afterward you can sleep till noon. When you hear the bell it will be time to get ready for lunch. We'll come to make you up and lace up your bodice."

"You won't be on duty till afternoon," Seamus added. "In the salon. You'll serve the coffee and liqueur and tend the fire, along with whoever else is assigned that duty."

"Will I see you later?" H asked.

"We're only supposed to take care of you during the first twenty-four hours of your stay. After that you're on your own, and will have dealings only with the masters. We won't be able to talk to you, and you won't be able to talk to us either."

"Don't go," H pleaded as they turned to leave. "Stay a while longer and tell me..." But he did not have time to finish his sentence.

The door opened. It was his lover, and he was not alone. It was his lover, dressed the way he used to when he had just gotten out of bed, in pyjamas and a blue dressing gown. The two boys disappeared with no other sound except the rustling of their robes.

H, who was holding a cup of coffee in his left hand and toast in the other, was seated on the edge of the bed, one of his legs dangling and the other tucked up under him. He did not move, but his cup suddenly began to shake in his hand and he dropped the toast.

"Pick it up," Draco said. They were his first words.

H put the cup down on the table, picked up the partly eaten toast, and put it beside the cup. Draco sat down by H and kissed him. H was relieved by the tenderness in the kiss and asked Draco if he loved him.

He answered, "Yes, I love you," then got to his feet and made H stand up too, softly running the cool palms of his hands, then his lips, over the welts.

The stranger was still standing by the door, his back to them. Since he had come in with his lover, H did not know whether or not he could look at him. What followed was not of a nature to reassure him.

"Come, take a look at him," his lover said to the other man, and having guided H to the foot of the bed, he pointed out to his companion that he had been right, and he thanked him for his advice, adding that it would only be fair for him to take H first if he so desired.

The unknown man, whom he still did not dare to look at, then asked him to spread his legs.

"Do as he says," said Draco who was holding H up. With his right hand he caressed one nipple, and his other holding H by the hip. The unknown man sat down on the edge of the bed, then seized H's sex and began slowly stroking it before taking him into his mouth.

H had been partially erect from the attention his lover was giving his body, and he moaned when the alien lips suddenly encircled him, inflaming him even more. He lost his footing and found himself again lying on the bed, with Draco's mouth on his mouth. Draco's hands were pinning his shoulders to the bed, while two other hands beneath his knees were raising and opening his legs. His own hands, which were pinned beneath his back, were grazed by the sex of the man who was caressing himself in the furrow of his buttocks before rising to press hard into his depths.

At the first stroke he cried out, as though it had been the lash of a whip, then again at each new stroke, and his lover bit his mouth. The man thrust several times, cried out and H gave a cry as well.

Draco freed H's hands, lifted him up, and lay him down beneath the blanket on the bed. The other man got up and Draco escorted him to the door. H thought that Draco was leaving as well. In a flash, H saw himself rejected by his lover, released, reduced to nothing. He had moaned beneath the lips of the stranger as never his lover had made him moan, cried out under the impact of a stranger's member as never his lover had made him cry out. He felt debased and guilty. He could not blame Draco if he were to leave him forever.

But no, the door was closing again; Draco was staying with him, he was coming back, lying down beside him beneath the cover. He was slipping into his moist, hot channel and, still holding him in this embrace, he said to H, "I love you. You are so beautiful in the embrace of another, so beautiful with your marks and your little cries of pleasure. When I have given you to the prefects, I'll come in one night and have you flogged till you bleed."

H was reassured by his lover's words and kisses, and gave in to the fatigue that filled his body. The sun had broken through the mist and flooded the room. But only the midday bell woke them up.

**

H was at a loss what to do.

His lover was there, asleep, as tenderly relaxed as if he was in H's own bed at home. Whenever Draco awoke, even the middle of the night, his hands inevitably reached for H's sex, holding him as he slept. This was why H never wore pyjamas to bed. Draco did so now. H took that hand and kissed it, without ever daring to ask him for anything. But then Draco spoke.

Stroking his collar, he told H that it was his intention that henceforth H should be shared by him and those of his choosing, and by those whom he did not know who were connected to this Order, shared as he had been the previous evening. That H was dependent on him, and on him alone, even though he might receive orders from persons other than himself, whether he was present or absent. H was to know that Draco was participating in whatever might be demanded of or inflicted on H, whether he was present or not. It was he who possessed and enjoyed H through those into whose hands he had been given, by the simple fact that he had been given to them by Draco. He must submit to them with the same respect with which he greeted Draco, as though they were so many reflections of him.

Thus Draco would possess him as a god possesses his creatures. The more he surrendered H, the more he would hold him dear. It was proof that H belonged to him because one can only give what one owns. Draco gave him only to reclaim him again, to reclaim him enriched in his eyes, like some common object that had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated.

H listened and trembled with happiness, because he loved Draco. He was on the verge of saying that he was Draco's slave and that he bore his bonds cheerfully when Draco stopped him.

"Yesterday you were told that as long as you are in this place, you are not to look a man in the face or speak to him. The same applies to me as well. With me you shall remain silent and obey. From now on the only times that you will open your mouth here in the presence of a man will be to cry out or to caress. Now get up and dress."

So H got up. Draco remained lying on the bed while H bathed and brushed his hair. The contact of his bruised bottom with the tepid water made him shiver, and he had to sponge himself without rubbing to keep from reviving the burning pain. He made up his mouth and eyes, oiled himself and, still naked but with lowered eyes, came back into the room.

Seamus had come in and was standing at the head of the bed, and Draco was watching him intently. He, too, had his head bowed, unspeaking. When H entered the room, Seamus took the robes of green satin and began to lace them up tight. The more the bodice was tightened, the more his nipples were prominently displayed. The strange thing was that this was very comfortable and to a certain extent restful. It made H stand up very straight, but it made him realize the freedom of that part of the body left unrestricted. The full robes and the trapezoid-shaped neckline running from the base of the neck to the nipples and across the full length of the chest seemed to shout that he was available to anyone who desired to touch him.

When Seamus had tied the laces in a double knot, H was able to see himself reflected in the mirror, slim and lost in the green satin which pooled around his feet. The two young men were standing side by side and Seamus reached out to smooth a wrinkle in the green robes.

Draco said to H, "Watch." And to Seamus he said, "Lift your robes." With both hands he raised the crackling silk, revealing as he did a golden belly, gleaming thighs and knees, and a tight dark triangle surrounding his sex. Draco put his hand on his sex and slowly explored, and with the other excited one of Seamus' nipples.

H watched. He carefully noted Seamus' half-open mouth and his neck, which was thrown back in pleasure, tightly circled by the leather collar, and he felt despair. What could he give Draco that this young man or any other could not? That had not occurred to him. He collapsed against the wall, his arms hanging limp. There was no longer any need to tell him to keep quiet. How could he have spoken?

Perhaps Draco was touched by his despair. He left Seamus and took H in his arms, calling him his love and his life, saying over and over again that he loved him. The despair that had overwhelmed him slowly ebbed. Draco loved him. He was free to enjoy himself with Seamus or with others, for he loved H.

"I love you," he whispered into his ear, "I love you," so softly it was scarcely audible. "I love you."

Draco did not leave until he saw that H's eyes were clear and his expression calm, contented.

**

Seamus took H by the hand and led him out into the hallway. Their slippers again made a resounding noise on the tile floor, and again they found a prefect seated on a bench between the doors. He was dressed like Oliver, but it was not Oliver. This one was tall and had light hair. He led them into an antechamber where a wrought-iron door stood guarded by two other prefects. H was surprised to see that one of them was a woman.

"That's the enclosure," Seamus murmured. The prefect who was walking in front of them heard him and turned around. H was amazed to see Seamus turn deathly pale and let go of his hand, let go of his robes, and sink to his knees on the tile floor. The two prefects near the gate burst out laughing. The female prefect, a slender woman with bushy brown hair, came over to H and politely invited him to follow her, opened a door opposite the one he had just entered, and then stood aside. He heard laughter and the sound of footsteps, then the door closed behind him.

He never learned what happened, whether Seamus had been punished for having spoken, and if so what the punishment had been. Or whether he had simply yielded to a caprice on the part of the prefect, or whether in throwing himself on his knees he had been obeying some rule or trying to move the prefect to pity, and whether he had succeeded.

H found himself in a small dining room with four long tables. The room was oddly quiet, for all that it was filled with men and women dressed in similar attire. Each of them had a round stool covered with black leather on which to sit. They had to lift their robes to sit down, and in so doing H rediscovered that first moment when his lover had made him take off his pants and sit in the same manner in the car. He was astonished to realize that he felt both arousal and embarrassment at this reminder of his nakedness.

At several places around the room stood the prefects, watching their charges intently to ensure that they kept to the rules. During his stay in the castle, he noted that, although the rule of silence was absolute, it was rare that the others did not try and break it during the daylight hours and noon meals. It was as though clothing gave them a feeling of assurance which nakedness and nocturnal chains destroyed. The prefects never gave orders, although the courtesy of their requests was as implacable as an order. They had apparently been ordered to punish infractions of the rules, and to punish them on the spot. Thus, on three occasions, H saw miscreants who were caught talking thrown to the floor and whipped, once in the hallways and twice in the refectory. So it was possible to be whipped in broad daylight, despite what they had told him the first evening, as though what happened with the prefects did not count and was left to their discretion.

After the noon meal, the female prefect he'd seen earlier conducted him to the salon, there to serve coffee and tend the fire. Seamus went with him, as did another boy named Justin. The prefect remained in the room, stationed near the column to which H had been attached.

"Did Oliver mark you last night?" she asked H. He nodded that he had. "Then you should show it," she said. "Please lift up your robes."

The prefect waited till he had lifted his robes up in back and fastened them, the way Seamus had done the previous evening. H's backside, his thighs, his slender legs, were framed by the cascading folds of green silk. The five welts had turned black. Then she told H to light the fire, which was ready on the hearth.

Another prefect, this one a male, entered and placed a tray filled with coffee cups on the console, then left the room. H went over near the console, while Seamus and Justin remained standing on either side of the fireplace.

Just then two men came in, and the first prefect in turn left the room. H thought he recognized one of the men from his voice, one of those who had taken him the previous evening. As he poured the coffee into the small black and gold cups, which Seamus handed around with the sugar, he stole a glance at them. So it was this thin, nervous-looking man. He was speaking again and H now was certain.

The other man was dark and thick set with a heavy face. Both of them were seated in the big leather armchairs, their feet near the fire, quietly smoking and reading their papers, paying no more heed to the boys than if they had not been there. Now and then the rustle of a paper was heard, or the sound of coals falling on the hearth.

H was seated on a cushion on the floor beside the wood basket, and from time to time he put another log on the fire. Seamus and Justin sat across from him on the floor, and their flowing robes overlapped one another.

After an hour had elapsed, the thin man called Justin to him, then Seamus. He told them to bring the ottoman (it was the same ottoman on which H had been spread-eagled the night before). Seamus did not wait for further instructions; he knelt down and bent over, holding both corners of the ottoman in his hands. When the man had Justin lift Seamus' gold robes, he did not stir. Justin was then ordered to undo the man's clothing and take between his hands that swollen sex. It swelled and stiffened within Justin's hands, before being cruelly thrust deep within Seamus. The other man, who was watching in silence, motioned to H to approach and, without taking his eyes off the spectacle, topped him into his lap and seized his sex with one hand.

It was in this position that Draco found him when, a minute later, he opened the door.

"Please don't let me disturb you," he said, and he sat down on the floor, on the same cushion where H had been sitting beside the fire before he had been called. Draco watched him closely and smiled every time the hand that was holding him stroked his sex or pushed into his passage, wrenching from him a moan that he could no longer restrain.

Seamus had long since gotten back to his feet, fiddling with the fire in place of H, while Justin had taken his place on the ottoman. Seamus brought Draco a glass of whisky and he kissed the boy's hand, then drank it down without taking his eyes off H.

The man who was still holding H then said, "Is he yours?"

"Yes," Draco replied.

"Lucius was right last night," the thin man said, "he's too narrow. He has to be widened."

"Not too much, mind you," said the man holding H.

"Whatever you say," Draco said, getting to his feet. "You're a better judge of these matters than I." And he rang for the prefects.

When Draco had rung, it was to have a coffer brought in which contained an assortment of small chains and belts, as well as a variety of ebonite shafts simulating an erect male member, ranging from the very thin to the very thick. Draco made H lie prone across the ottoman, watching while Justin inserted the shaft that he had chosen and fastened it in place by three small chains connected to a leather belt around his hips, in such a way that the internal movements of his muscles could not expel it. One little chain followed the furrow of his buttocks, the two other the fold on either side of his sex, in order not to prevent anyone from touching that if need be.

For the next six days, when his stint in the salon came to an end, whichever boy was working in the salon with him inserted one of these shafts into H, each day choosing a thicker one. At the evening meal, which the slaves took together in the dining hall, naked after their baths, H still wore it, and everyone could see that he was wearing it, because of the little chains and the belt. It was only removed by the prefect when he came to chain him to the wall for the night if no one had asked for him, or when he was taken to the salon to be used.

After six days there was no longer any need for an instrument, and H's lover told his that he was happy he was now open and that he would make certain he remained so. At the same time, he warned H that he was leaving and that he would not see him during the last few days that he was to spend in the castle, before Draco came back to pick him up and take him back to London.

"But I love you," he added, "I do love you. Don't forget me."

Oh, how could H forget his lover! He was the hand that blindfolded him, the whip wielded by the prefect Oliver. He was the chain above his head, the unknown men who took him, and all the voices that gave him orders. He was the bodice that held him straight, the chains that kept him submissive, and his refuge of silence.

And those parts of his body most constantly offended - his mouth abused by anonymous members, the nipples fondled by rough hands, and the path between his thighs wantonly ploughed - at the same time seemed to H to have become more beautiful and ennobled. That he should have gained in dignity through being prostituted was a source of surprise, and yet dignity was indeed from within. His bearing bespoke calm, while on his face could be detected the serenity and imperceptible smile that one surmises rather than actually sees in the eyes of hermits.

When Draco informed him that he was leaving, night had already fallen. H was naked in his cell and was waiting for them to come and take him to the dining hall. As for his lover, he was dressed as usual in the robes he wore every day. Draco kissed him, laid him down on the bed, lay down beside him and, tenderly and slowly and gently, took him before kissing him again.

"Before I leave," he said, "I would like to have you whipped, and this time I'll ask your permission. Do you agree?"

H agreed to it. "I love you," he repeated. "Ring for Oliver."

Draco rang. Oliver chained his hands above his head. When he was thus bound, his lover kissed him again, standing beside him on the bed. Again he told him that he loved him, then he got down off the bed and nodded for Oliver. He watched H struggle so fruitlessly. He listened to his moans swell and become cries, and when his tears flowed, he sent Oliver away. H still found the strength to tell him again that he loved him. Then his lover kissed his drenched face, his gasping mouth, undid his bonds, laid him down, and left.

**

To say that H began to await his lover the minute he left is a vast understatement. He was henceforth nothing but silent vigil. He made and tended the fire, poured and offered coffee and liqueurs, lighted cigarettes. He arranged flowers and folded newspapers, so docile with his leather collar, his tight bodice and prisoner's bracelets, that all it took for the men whom he was serving was to order him to remain by their sides while they were violating another boy to make them want to violate him as well.

As for the rule of silence, it meant so little to him that, now that his lover was gone, he did not once break it, replying by signals whenever another boy would take advantage of their guards' momentary distraction to speak to him. His world became the whips and the terrible silence.

And yet nothing had been such a comfort to him as that silence, unless it was the chains. The chains and the silence, which should have bound him deep within himself, which should have smothered him, strangled him, on the contrary freed him from himself. What would have become of him if he had been granted the right to speak and the freedom of his hands, if he had been free to make a choice, when his lover prostituted him before his own eyes? Beneath the gazes, beneath the hands, beneath the sexes that defiled him and the whips that rent him, he was lost in a delirious absence from himself. He was anyone, only one of many slaves, boys and girls whom he saw being opened and taken, even when he was not obliged to have a hand in it. Time ceased to have meaning. He had been waiting for three months or three days, ten days or ten years.

He awoke one afternoon. Draco was sitting beside him, stroking his hair.

"You must get dressed now," he said, "You've done very well, my love. You're finished, and now we're leaving."

H took a hasty bath, brushed his hair, and made up his face. When he returned to his cell, his usual robes, shoes and wand were on the foot of the bed. There was even the cloak he wore over his robes when the weather turned brisk, but no pants or trousers. He dressed slowly but did not put on his cloak because it was very warm in his cell. Just then, one of the men he'd met on the first evening came in. He unlocked the collar and bracelets that had held H captive for two weeks. Was H freed of them? Or did he have the feeling that something was missing instead? He said nothing, scarcely daring to run his hands over his wrists, not daring to lift them to his throat.

Then Draco asked him to choose, from among the identical rings that he showed to him in a small wooden box, the one which fit his left ring finger. They were strange rings, iron bands with gold inside. For design, they each bore a feather inlaid in gold. The second ring he tried fit him exactly. It was heavy on his hand, and the gold gleamed furtively in the dull gray of the polished iron. H wondered: why iron and why gold, and this insignia he did not understand?

He had so many questions, but it was impossible to talk in this room draped in red, where the chain was still on the wall above the bed, where the still rumpled cover was lying on the floor, this room into which the prefect Oliver might emerge, was sure to emerge, with punishment for his transgressions.

He was wrong; Oliver did not appear. Draco had him put on the cloak. His shoes made less noise on the hallway floor than had his slippers as the stranger led them through the rooms, back to the room with the closets and mirrors. H was holding his lover by the hand, as if afraid he would disappear if he let go. All there was left to do was descend the steps leading down from the stoop, before which H recognized the car that had brought him there.

He sat down next to his lover, who took the wheel and started off. As they left the grounds, Draco stopped and kissed him, then continued on their route. H turned his head and looked back at the large gates, and was able to read the name there: Hogwarts.

******************

When he had finished speaking, Harry chanced a look up at his lover, to see what expression was on his face. Had he been angered by Harry's tale? Amused? Titillated? Had Harry ruined everything by revealing his fantasy? Or did his lover understand the meaning behind his words, the story behind his fantasy, and the need revealed by both?

In answer, his lover pulled him into his lap and kissed him ruthlessly. Harry could feel his lover's rigid cock pressing against him through their clothes and smiled. It seemed that his lover had enjoyed his tale, had enjoyed it very much.

"Bed," his lover said hoarsely. "Now."

Harry was only too happy to oblige.

End of Part One

* * *

* * *

 


	2. Part Two: Professor Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues as H's lover introduces him to his mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART 2 WARNINGS: Extreme content. This part contains Sadism/masochism, Dominance/submission, whippings, and multiple partners.

Harry lay on the couch, his head in his lover's lap. Once again, his lover's fingers were running through his hair; he had a suspicion that, for all his disparaging comments about Harry's unruly hair, his lover secretly adored it.  
  
"What happens next?"  
  
Harry tilted his head back, looking up at his lover with a puzzled face. "When?"  
  
"In your fantasy. Surely that's not the end of it."  
  
Harry flushed slightly. "Er...no, it's not."  
  
"Then, pray, continue with your tale."  
  
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, still feeling hesitant. "I mean, it's pretty kinky and all..."  
  
His lover tipped up his chin. "Harry, did it look like I minded yesterday's story?"  
  
Harry's blush deepened. No, his lover certainly hadn't seemed to mind, based on his performance in bed last night. Normally gentle and considerate, last night his lover had let loose, flipping Harry from one position to another, smacking his arse until it tingled, driving deeper than ever before. His lover had ridden him half the night, bringing both of them to the edge and then easing back a half-dozen times before letting them find release. Harry had exploded in a climax more intense than any he'd ever experienced, had blacked out, in fact, and had come back to consciousness wrapped in his lover's arms with kisses being pressed all over his face.  
  
His lover chuckled. "Go on, then. What happens next?"  
  
**************************  
  
 **Part Two - Professor Snape**  
  
The flat where H lived was situated in Wizarding London, on the top floor of an old house that overlooked Diagon Alley in the front. The rooms were spacious, had sloping ceilings, and the two back rooms opened onto a balcony looking over a private little garden. One of these rooms was H's, and the other was Draco's, and it was here that he dressed and kept his clothes. The large front room served as kitchen, living room, and study.  
  
Seeing these rooms again gave H a shock and made his heart beat faster. In his bedroom, the curtains had been drawn and a fire was glowing behind the screen. The bed was made, the covers turned back, and a filmy gown lay across the end of it.  
  
"I bought you a nightshirt," Draco said. "You've never had one before."  
  
H picked it up. It was almost transparent, like the clothing of Egyptian statuettes. H put it on. The material was so light that he could see his pale skin through it.  
  
Seated before the fire in his white nightshirt, H listened to his lover. Draco began by saying that H should not think that he was free now. With one exception: H was free to tell him that he wasn't in love with him anymore and to leave him. But if H did love him, then he was in no way free of these new bonds.  
  
H listened to him without saying a word, thinking how happy he was and how he wanted to prove to Draco that he belonged to him. Draco was pacing back and forth, talking, and suddenly said that he wanted H to listen with his knees unclasped and arms unfolded. So he lifted his nightshirt and shifted to his knees, feeling the sharp prickling of the white fur between his open thighs, his hands lying palm upward beside his knees, and listened to his lover.  
  
What his lover wanted was very simple: that he be constantly and immediately accessible. It was not enough for Draco to know that he was. He was to be without the slightest obstacle intervening, and his bearing and clothing were to be symbols of that availability to experienced eyes. His legs and lips were to always remain open. He could wear whatever robes he wished, in whatever style or colour, as long as they were full enough to lift easily or they opened down the front. He was to wear nothing under them except for his socks and shoes. He was to go through his clothes and hand over to Draco all his underclothes, shirts, and trousers. If he needed new robes, there was money in the drawer of his desk for that purpose.  
  
H blushed. "Am I supposed to visit Madam Malkin with nothing under my robes?"  
  
"Yes. If someone should notice or comment, you can explain it any way you like, or not explain at all. It is your problem, and yours alone. Now, as for the rest of what I still have to teach you, I prefer to wait a few days before telling you of it."  
  
When Draco had finished, H murmured, "I love you," and his lover smiled at him. Then he told H to get into bed and wait for him, that he would sleep here tonight. When Draco came back and slid into bed, H reached over to turn off the lamp with his left hand. The last thing he saw before the room was plunged into darkness was the sombre glitter of his iron ring.  
  
**  
  
The next day was Saturday. H was just finishing lunch when an owl arrived bearing a letter. It was from Draco, who had left early that morning for a meeting and was not due back till evening, to take him out to dinner. The note reminded H to go through his clothes and put aside all unsuitable garments to be discarded, and also requested that he spend the rest of the day naked.  
  
H quickly removed his towelling gown and nightshirt, as if he was still being watched at the castle and punished for being too slow to act. He put his lunch dishes in the sink and went back into his bedroom to start sorting through his clothes.  
  
The robes were easy - only three had to be set aside: one because it was too slender to lift easily and had tiny buttons down the front, and two because they were designed to be worn open over other clothes. His pants and trousers were likewise set aside without regret. It was his T-shirts that gave him the most qualms. Some of these had been gifts from friends, and some had been purchases while he was still in school. He was tempted to hide them away but the thought of disobeying his lover made his stomach clench so, reluctantly, he added them to the pile of clothes on the bed.  
  
His wardrobe looked empty. He decided to make up a list of what he needed to purchase. Returning from the library with quill and parchment in hand, he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror and froze.  
  
He was wearing only a pair of slippers in a slightly darker green than the ones he'd worn at Hogwarts - and his ring. He was no longer wearing either a collar or leather bracelets, and he was alone. And yet, he had never felt more subjected to a will that was not his own, more totally a slave, and more content to be so. He smiled at his reflection, and then went to prepare tea and light the fire. When Draco returned home, he would be waiting, curled up in the big chair, naked.  
  
**  
  
For two weeks, H had been outfitted and ready for use when he received a note from his lover asking him to be ready at eight to join him and one of his friends for dinner. The postscript specified that he was to take his new fur-lined cloak and to dress entirely in black (entirely was underlined) and was to take care to make up and oil himself as at Hogwarts.  
  
It was six o'clock. Entirely in black and for dinner - that meant black silk. After he laid out his robes and the knee-length black socks that Draco preferred, and set the new black shoes with raised heels Draco had bought for him beside the bed, he went to bathe. Nothing seemed stranger to H than to see himself, solitary and free in his bathroom, meticulously making himself up and oiling himself as he had done at Hogwarts. He brushed his hair and then dressed carefully in the black silk robe, socks, and shoes, then glanced at the clock. It was quarter till eight. He sat down on the bed, eyes riveted on the clock, till only five minutes remained, then wrapped his fur cloak around himself and went to the fireplace.  
  
When he arrived at the restaurant, the first person he saw was Draco, standing at the bar. He smiled at H tenderly and took him by the hand. Turning toward the man standing with him, he introduced H to Professor Severus Snape. H was offered a stool between the two men, and as he was about to sit down, Draco said to him in a half-whisper to be careful not to muss his robes. He helped H to slide his robes out from under him and down over the edges of the stool. H felt the cold leather against his skin while the metal rim around it pressed against his thighs. His robes billowed around him.  
  
The other man, who had bowed without uttering a word, had not taken his eyes off H. He didn't dare look up at the man's face but noted that Professor Snape was looking at his knees, his hands, and finally at his lips, so calmly and with such precise attention, that H felt himself being weighed and measured as the instrument he knew full well he was.  
  
Draco was drinking a martini; Snape nursed his whiskey as he explained that if H would be good enough to concur, they would dine in the room downstairs, which was smaller and less noisy than the main dining room.  
  
"Of course," H said.  
  
Then, to help him off the stool, Snape offered him his right hand in which H placed his left, and he finally addressed H directly by observing that he had hands that were made to wear irons, so becoming was the iron ring on him. There was a trace of ambiguity in his words, leaving H in some doubt as to whether he was referring to the ring alone or whether he were not also referring to iron chains.  
  
In the room downstairs there were only four tables, one of which was occupied by guests who were finishing their meal. On the walls had been drawn a mural in soft colours, and it reminded H that he wanted to order ice cream for dessert with lots of whipped cream. He was feeling light and happy; Draco's knee was touching his beneath the table, and whenever he spoke H knew he was talking for his ears alone. Draco, too, was observing his lips.  
  
They let him have the ice cream but not coffee. Professor Snape invited H and Draco to have coffee at his place. They all dined very lightly. H realized that they had been careful to drink very little and had kept him from drinking much at all, only part of a bottle of wine shared between the three of them.  
  
"We shall Apparate to my place," Snape announced, leading the way out of the restaurant when they had finished their dinner. "Draco, would you guide H there?"  
  
They Apparated into a dark courtyard in front of what appeared to be a large house, but it was too dark for H to see clearly. Professor Snape led the way inside, guiding them to a large room furnished in dark mahogany and green silk.  
  
"The sofa is for you," Snape said to H. "Draco will make coffee. Please sit down; I wish you to listen to what I have to say."  
  
The large sofa was set at right angles to the fireplace, facing windows that appeared to overlook the garden. H took off his fur-lined cloak and laid it over the back of the sofa. When he turned back around, he noticed that his lover and his host were standing, waiting for him to accept Snape's invitation. H hesitated. He had yet to perfect a way to lift his robes so that no one would notice. Finally, he gave in and sat down, pulling up his robes as he did.  
  
Once he was seated, Draco moved behind the sofa and, seizing H by the hair, pulled his head back against the couch so he could kiss him, a kiss so prolonged and profound that H gasped for breath as he felt his sex stir. Draco only let him go long enough to tell him that he loved him, then immediately took his mouth again.  
  
Snape had come nearer, and when at last Draco let him go and he opened his eyes, it was the black, unflinching gaze of the Professor which he encountered. Completely stunned and bewildered as he was, H none-the-less was easily able to see that Snape was admiring him and that he desired him. Who could have resisted his moist, half-open mouth with its full lips, the white stalk of his arching neck against the black collar of his robes, his eyes large and clear, which refused to be evasive? But the only gesture Snape allowed himself was to run his fingers over his scar and then his lips.  
  
Then he sat down facing H on the opposite side of the fireplace, and when Draco had taken a seat as well, he began to speak.  
  
"I do not believe Draco has ever spoken to you about his family," he said. "Perhaps you don't know he and I are cousins, and that we were raised together after my parents died. So, though I am twenty years the senior, we are brothers of a sort.  
  
"That Draco loves you I have no doubt. I would have known even if he hadn't told me, even if he hadn't made a move. All one has to do is to see the way he looks at you. I know, too, that you have been to Hogwarts. In principle, the ring you are wearing gives me the right to do with you what I will. But that involves merely a fleeting assignation, and what we expect from you is more serious. I say 'we' because Draco prefers me to speak for both of us.  
  
"There is between Draco and I a freedom so absolute and of such long standing that what belongs to me has always belonged to him, and what belongs to him has likewise belonged to me. This includes you, if you agree.  
  
"Before you reply, realize that I am only, and can only be, another form of your lover. A more formidable one than the men to whom you were surrendered at Hogwarts because I shall be there every day and because I have certain...needs. I am also rather set in my habits."  
  
H was frozen to the sofa like a butterfly impaled upon a pin, a long pin composed of words and looks that pierced his body and pressed him against the warm silk. Both men were sitting across from him, watching him intently.  
  
"Will you give me an answer now, or would you like to know more?" Snape asked.  
  
"If you give your consent," Draco added, "I will personally explain to you Severus' preferences."  
  
"Demands," Snape corrected.  
  
The hardest thing, H was thinking, was not the question of giving consent, and he realized that never for a moment did either of them dream that he might refuse. For that matter, neither did he. The hardest thing was simply to speak. His mouth was dry, both fear and desire constricting his throat, and his hands were cold and moist. If only he could have closed his eyes.... But he could not. Two gazes caught his eyes, gazes from which he could not - and did not desire to - escape. They drew him toward something he thought he had left behind at Hogwarts. An order would have made him speak or move, but this time what they wanted from him was not blind obedience. They wanted him to judge himself a slave and surrender as such.  
  
Finally, he straightened up and, as though what he was going to say was stifling him, unfastened the top buttons of his robes. Then he stood up, his hands and knees shaking.  
  
"I am yours," he said to Draco. "I'll be whatever you want me to be."  
  
"No," Draco said. "Ours. Repeat after me: I belong to both of you. I shall be whatever both of you want me to be."  
  
Snape's piercing black eyes were fixed firmly upon his, as were Draco's, and in them he was lost, slowly repeating the phrases Draco dictated to him. To Severus and Draco, the right to dispose of his body however they wished, in whatever place or manner they should choose, the right to keep him in chains, the right to whip him for the slightest failing or infraction, or simply for their pleasure, the right to pay no heed to his pleas and cries if they should make him cry out.  
  
"At this point, Severus would like me to take over and have me brief you concerning his demands."  
  
H barely heard what Draco was saying in regard to Snape's demands. It hardly mattered. He belonged to them; he would do whatever they wished. Instead, the words Draco had spoken at Hogwarts came back to him.  
  
Hogwarts seemed to have existed in another life, a dream or nightmare - the prison setting, the lavish robes, men in masks - all removed from his own life. There he had felt the way you do at night, lost in a dream, certain that it will end, and you want it to end because you're not sure you'll be able to bear it, and yet wanting it to continue to see how it will end.  
  
Snape would no doubt whip him, as the men at Hogwarts had. It was true that Draco had never whipped him and the only difference between their relationship prior to Hogwarts and after was his wardrobe and the ring. H had never been able to tell whether Draco had administered any of the floggings he had received at the castle but he doubted it. The pleasure Draco derived from watching him bound and struggling was so great that doubtless he could not bear to have his attention distracted by having to take a part in it. It was also clear that he was happy that H was handing himself over to the commands and desires of Professor Snape.  
  
Now it was his turn to speak. Did he consent? Words failed him. This wilful assent they were asking him to express was the agreement to surrender himself, to say yes in advance to everything to which he wanted to say yes but to which his body said no, at least insofar as the whipping was concerned. He had to admit a feeling of both anxiety and excitement caused by what he read in Professor Snape's eyes, a feeling too intense for him to delude himself. He was trembling like a leaf, and knew that he was waiting more impatiently than Snape for the moment when he would place his hand and perhaps his lips upon H. It was up to H to hasten the moment.  
  
Whatever courage or surge of overwhelming desire he may have had that brought him to his feet, it suddenly abandoned him. He felt so weak that he slipped to the floor, his robe in full bloom around him, and in the silence Professor Snape's deep voice remarked that the look of fear was becoming on H. His words were obviously intended for Draco, and H had the feeling that Snape was restraining himself from advancing on him, and he regretted that restraint. And yet he avoided Snape's gaze, his eyes fixed upon Draco, terrified lest his lover should see what was in his eyes and deem it as a betrayal.  
  
And yet, it was not a betrayal, for if he were to weigh his desire to belong to Snape against his need to belong to Draco, he would not have had a second's hesitation. The only reason he was yielding to this desire was that Draco had allowed him to and, to a certain extent, given him to understand that he was ordering H. Yet, there was still a lingering doubt in his mind as to whether Draco might not be annoyed to see him acquiesce too quickly.  
  
Draco asked a third time for an answer, and H answered, "I consent to whatever you both desire," and lowered his eyes to his hands, then added in a murmur, "I should like to know whether I shall be whipped."  
  
There was a long pause during which he regretted twenty times over having asked the question. Then Snape's voice said slowly, "From time to time."  
  
"Even if I agree to it now," H said, "even if I promise now, I couldn't bear it."  
  
"All we ask you to do is submit to it, and if you scream or moan, to agree ahead of time that it will be in vain," Snape said.  
  
"Oh, please, for pity's sake, not yet!" said H, for Snape was getting to his feet and Draco followed suit. He leaned down and took H by the shoulders.  
  
"So give us your answer," Draco said. "Do you consent?"  
  
Finally, he said that he did. Draco gently helped him up and, sitting down on the sofa, made H kneel down alongside him facing the sofa. His arms, chest and head rested on the cushions and he closed his eyes, seeing in his mind's eye a picture he'd seen years before of a woman kneeling as he was kneeling, waiting to be punished. With one hand, Draco took his wrists in a vise-like grip, and with the other lifted his robes so high that H could feel the silk brush his cheek.  
  
Draco caressed his flanks and drew Snape's attention to the two dimples that graced them. With the same hand, he pressed down on the small of his back and ordered H to open his knees wider. He obeyed without saying a word. The touches Draco was bestowing upon his body, Snape's replies, and the coarseness of their words as they examined him overwhelmed him with a shame so violent that he began to wish for the whip as a deliverance, for pain and screams as justification. But Snape's hands pried him open again, caressed his sex until he moaned, and he was vanquished and humiliated that he had moaned.  
  
"I leave you to Severus," Draco then said. "Remain the way you are now. He will dismiss you when he sees fit."  
  
How often had he remained like this at the castle, on his knees and offered to one and all? But there he had always had his hands bound together, a happy prisoner upon whom everything was imposed and nothing asked. Here, it was through his own free will that he remained half-naked. His promise bound him as much as the leather bracelets and chains.  
  
Draco and Snape were both gone, the professor having escorted him to the door, and H waited alone, motionless, feeling more exposed in the solitude and more prostituted by the wait than he had ever felt before. The silk of the sofa was smooth to his cheek; under his knees he could feel a thick wool rug, and along the back of his thighs the warmth of the fire.  
  
Snape was apparently in no hurry to return, and H, who had waited so submissively for the strangers of Hogwarts to take their pleasure, now felt a lump rise in his throat at the idea that at any minute, Snape would again put his hands on him. But when he did return, it was not exactly as H had imagined it.  
  
He heard Snape open the door and cross the room. He remained for some time with his back to the fire, studying H, then in a quiet voice told H to get up and sit back down. Surprised, almost embarrassed, he obeyed. Snape brought him a glass of whisky, which he refused. Then he saw that Snape was dressed in a dressing gown with apparently nothing underneath, a very conservative dressing gown of black that matched his hair. His hands were long and dry, his nails stained as if by some chemical substance. Snape caught him staring and H blushed; these were the same hands which had seized his body, the hands he both dreaded and desired.  
  
But Snape did not approach H.  
  
"I'd like you to get completely undressed," he said. "But first, simply open the bodice of your robes without getting up."  
  
H unbuttoned his robes, letting them fall open.  
  
"Caress the tips of your nipples, ever so lightly," Snape said before adding, "You must use a darker rouge on them. Yours is too light."  
  
Taken aback, H fondled his nipples with his fingertips and felt them stiffen and rise. Embarrassed by his response, he covered them with his palms.  
  
"No," Snape said. "Take away your hands."  
  
H withdrew his hands and lay back against the couch, wondering why Snape did not bend over him, bring his mouth close, why his hands did not move toward the nipples he had seen stiffen so wantonly. He had drawn near, sitting on the arm of the sofa, but was not touching him. H had the feeling Snape wanted to insult him by his disdain, his silence, by a certain attitude of detachment.  
  
Yet Snape had desired him a while ago; he still did now. H could see it by the tautness beneath the soft material of his dressing gown. H longed for him to move, to take and hurt him, and hated himself for his own desire while loathing Snape for the self-control he was displaying.  
  
He wanted Snape to desire him; there, the truth was out. He wanted Snape to be chafing under the urge to touch his lips and penetrate his body, to devastate him if need be, but not to remain so calm and self-possessed.  
  
At Hogwarts, he had not cared in the slightest whether those who had used him had any feelings for him whatsoever. They were the instruments by which his lover derived pleasure, by which he became what Draco wanted him to be. Their hands were his hands, their orders his orders. Under Draco's watching eyes, he had known that he was bringing pleasure to his lover, and it had pleased him to be so used.  
  
But not here. Draco had turned him over to Snape, but not so that he could watch what was done to H nor for the pleasure of surrendering him to others. It was as if to share with Snape what he loved most, as no doubt in days gone by, when they were young, they had shared their books and horses. Today, this sharing derived the meaning from Draco's relation to Snape much more than it did from his relation to H. What each of them would look for in H would be the other's mark, the trace of the other's passage.  
  
Only a short while before, when he had been kneeling half-naked before Draco and Snape had opened his thighs with both his hands, Draco had explained to Snape why H's buttocks were so easily accessible and why he was pleased that they had been thus prepared. It was because it had occurred to him that Snape would enjoy having his preferred path constantly at his disposal. He had even added that, if Snape wished, he would grant him the sole use of it.  
  
"Why, gladly," Snape had said, but he had remarked that, in spite of everything, there was a risk that he might rend H.  
  
"H is yours," Draco had replied, "H will be pleased to be rent."  
  
Although he knew that Draco had always preferred other forms of love making than penetration, the very idea that Draco could imagine giving up any part of him left H stunned. He had taken it as the sign that his lover cared more about Snape than he did about him. He saw another sign of what could scarcely be termed anything but a certain deference toward Snape in the fact that Draco - who so loved to see H beneath the bodies or the blows of others - had left after making certain that Snape found him suitable.  
  
Oddly enough, and however insulting Draco's conduct may have been, H's love for Draco remained unchanged. He considered himself fortunate to count enough in his eyes for him to derive pleasure from offering him to another, particularly one he esteemed so much.  
  
But in Snape he detected a will of ice and iron that would not be swayed by desire, a will whose judgment would not be moved no matter how submissive H was. The whip at the valets' belt, the chains borne almost constantly, both seemed less terrifying than the look in Snape's eyes as it fastened on the body he refrained from touching. That this was some perverse game, H had no doubt. That Snape had every intention of winning he did not doubt, either.  
  
Without moving from where he sat, Snape then told him to take off his robes. H's moist hands made the buttons slippery and it took him two tries before he succeeded in undoing the black silk. When he was completely naked except for his shoes and the black socks that emphasized the whiteness of his legs, Snape had him kneel on the floor with his back against the sofa. He did not dare to look Snape in the face but saw his hands undoing his dressing gown.  
  
Snape straddled H and seized him by the nape of his neck, then drove into his mouth. It was not the caress of H's lips along his length he was looking for but the back of his throat. For a long time he probed and H felt the suffocating gag of flesh swell and harden, the slow hammering finally bringing him to tears.  
  
Although he delighted and revelled in him for a long time, Snape did not bring his pleasure to a climax, but withdrew from him in silence, without closing his dressing gown.  
  
"You are easy, H," he said sneeringly. "You love Draco, but you're easy. Does Draco realize that you covet and long for all the men who desire you, that by sending you to Hogwarts or surrendering you to others he is providing you with a string of alibis to cover your easy virtue?"  
  
"I love Draco," H replied.  
  
"You love Draco, but you desire me, among others."  
  
H's heart seized. Yes, he did desire Snape, but what if Draco, upon learning it, were to change? Terror-stricken, all he could do was remain silent and lower his eyes. Even to look Snape directly in the eyes would have been tantamount to a confession.  
  
Then Snape bent down over him and, taking him by the shoulders, made him slide down onto the rug so that he was on his back, his legs raised and doubled up against his chest. Snape, sitting down on the couch within arm's reach, abruptly ordered him to caress himself. Startled, H meekly stretched his hand toward his sex, already starting to harden, but then his hand recoiled and his flesh shrank. He'd never been able to do this, not in front of another, not even Draco.  
  
"I can't." Snape's gaze was persistent. He could not bear it, and he closed his eyes, repeating, "I can't."  
  
Though he'd uttered the words in almost a whisper, Snape heard them, rose to his feet, closed his dressing gown, and ordered H to get up.  
  
"Is this your obedience?" he snapped.  
  
Then he caught both his wrists with his left hand, and with his right he slapped H on both sides of the face. H staggered and would have fallen had Snape not held him up.  
  
"Kneel down and listen to me," he said. "I'm afraid Draco's training leaves a great deal to be desired."  
  
"I always obey Draco," H replied hotly, stung by the slur upon his lover.  
  
"You're confusing love and obedience," Snape said sharply. "You'll obey me without loving me, and without my loving you."  
  
With that, H felt a strange, inexplicable storm of revolt rising within, silently denying in the depths of his being the words he was hearing, denying his promises of submission and slavery. No longer meekly submissive, he struggled as Snape made him bend over with his elbows on the floor, his head between his arms, his buttocks raised. Snape had to pin him with the weight of his body to keep him in place, had to force his way inside H's body, to rend him as Draco had said he would.  
  
The first time he did not cry out. Snape went at it again, harder now, and H screamed. He screamed as much out of revolt as of pain, and he was fully aware of it. He also knew - which meant that he was vanquished - that Snape was pleased to make him cry out. Snape seemed in no hurry to finish, unlike the men at Hogwarts, and only took his pleasure once H had subsided under him.  
  
When Snape had finished with him, after he had helped him to his feet, he seemed on the point of dismissing H when he suddenly paused and studied H again. Snape remarked that what he had spilled in H was going to seep slowly out, tinted with the blood of the wound he had inflicted, and that this would happen again as long as his passage was not used to him and he was obliged to keep forcing his way. He remarked that Draco had reserved this particular use to him, and he certainly intended to make full use of it, H had best have no illusions on that score. He reminded H that he had agreed to be Draco's slave, and Snape's too, but that it appeared unlikely that he was aware - consciously aware - of what he had consented to. By the time he had learned, it would be too late for him to escape.  
  
Listening, H told himself that perhaps it would also be too late for Snape to escape becoming enamoured of him, for he had no intention of being quickly tamed, and by the time he was, Snape might have learned to love him a little. For now he knew that all his inner resistance and refusal had one object and one object alone: he wanted to exist for Snape in however modest a way, in the same way he existed for Draco, and wanted Snape to feel something more than desire.  
  
Not that H was in love with Snape, but because he clearly saw that Draco loved Snape in that passionate way boys love their elders, and he sensed that Draco was ready, if need be, to sacrifice him to any and all of Snape's whims in an effort to satisfy him. He knew with an infallible intuition that Draco would follow Snape's example and emulate his attitude, and that if Snape were to show contempt for him, Draco would be contaminated by it, no matter how much he loved H.  
  
Contaminated, he was, in a way he had never been by the opinions and example of the men at Hogwarts. This was because at the castle he was the master and the opinions of all the men there to whom he gave H depended on his own. Here, he was not the master any longer. On the contrary, Snape was Draco's master without Draco's being fully aware of it, which is to say that Draco admired him and wanted to emulate him, to compete with him, and this was why he had given H to him. This time it was apparent that H had been given with no strings attached. Draco would probably go on loving H insofar as Snape deemed that he was worth the trouble. It was clear that Snape would be his master and, regardless of what Draco might think, his only master. H did not expect any pity from him, but could he not hope to wrest some slight feeling of love?  
  
Sprawled in the big armchair next to the fire, Snape left H standing there naked and told him to await his further orders. H waited without saying a word, pondering all these thoughts in his head. Then Snape got to his feet and told H to follow him. Still naked except for his shoes and black socks, he followed Snape up a flight of stairs and entered a small bedroom, a room so tiny there was only space enough for a bed in one corner and a dressing table and chair between the bed and window. This small room communicated with a larger room, which was Snape's, with a common bathroom between. Under Snape's watchful eyes, H washed himself - the towel was faintly stained with pink, as Snape had predicted - removed his shoes and socks, and crawled in between the cold sheets.  
  
Before he closed the door between their rooms, after H was already in bed, Snape came over to him and kissed his fingertips, then left.  
  
It was the first time Snape's lips had touched his body. H wept, and did not fall asleep until dawn.  
  
**  
  
The following day, H awakened at ten. A house elf brought him coffee, prepared his bath, and gave him his clothes except for his cloak, which was still in the living room. When he went downstairs, he found the living room was empty. As he put on his cloak, the house elf told him that Snape had left and handed him an envelope on which there was nothing but his initial. The white sheet inside consisted of two lines: "Draco owled that he would come by your flat at six o'clock," signed with an S and with a postscript: "The riding crop is for your next visit."  
  
H glanced around. On the table, between the two chairs in which Snape and Draco had been sitting the evening before, was a long, slender, leather riding crop near a vase of yellow roses.  
  
The house elf was waiting with a pot of Floo powder. H put the letter in his pocket, threw the Floo powder into the fire, and left.  
  
**  
  
Back home, after having taken off his clothes and eaten lunch in his dressing gown, H had more time than he desired to think. There was no owl from Draco. Draco had owled Snape and not him.  
  
Why? What had Snape told him? How had they talked about him? He remembered the words they both had used in his presence, their casual remarks concerning the advantages of his body with respect to the demands of theirs. Perhaps it was merely that he was not used to this kind of vocabulary, but the words had seemed utterly base and contemptible, had embarrassed and humiliated H. Draco had never spoken of him thus, not in his presence.  
  
"I love you, I love you, Draco," he repeated, softly calling to him in the solitude of his room, "love you, do whatever you want with me, but don't leave me, for God's sake, don't leave me."  
  
Waiting in his flat for six long hours, H sat withdrawn into himself, desperate for the minutes to pass. He had dressed with care in robes of red silk which made his already pale face seem even paler. His assistant, who had stopped by to deliver some layouts from work, teased him and said that he looked like a femme fatale.  
  
"Fatal for whom?" H said to himself.  
  
A year earlier, before he had fallen in love with Draco, he would have sworn, "Fatal for Snape", and would have added, "and he'll know it too." He had delighted in his ability to inflame and spurn those who had desired him, even if it was only subconsciously acknowledged. Snape would have been no more than another moth to be drawn to his flame and devoured by it.  
  
But his love for Draco had stripped him of all his weapons, and instead of providing him with any new proof of his power, had removed those he had previously possessed. Not even his courage was of any help when he had met Draco. In the space of a week he had learned fear but certainty, anguish but happiness. Draco threw himself at H like a pirate at his prisoner, and he revelled in his captivity. He was no longer free? Yes! Thank God, he was no longer free. It did not matter for he felt light as air, a fish in water, lost in happiness.  
  
H had been happy when Draco had had him whipped and had prostituted him, because his impassioned submission would furnish his lover with the proof that he belonged to him, but perhaps also because the pain and shame of the lash seemed the very redemption of his sins. And what if Snape was right? What if he actually enjoyed his debasement? In that case, the baser he was, the more merciful was Draco to consent to make H the instrument of his pleasure. But what if he had been cast out, abandoned by Draco? What if Snape had told him that he lusted for others, that he had disobeyed Snape's orders? For six o'clock had come and gone, as had six-thirty, and Draco had not come.  
  
H was prey to a dual feeling of hope and despair. Reason would reassert itself: Draco would arrive, nothing was changed, he had been held up by a staff meeting or some extra work, he had not had time to let H know. Then terror would come hard on its heels: Draco had found another, Snape had told him of his perfidy, Draco no longer loved him. Each of these attacks of terror would leave behind a dull premonition, a warning of woe.  
  
Draco finally arrived at seven, so happy to see H again that he kissed him at the doorway, in front of the neighbors, ignoring their smiles and indulgent laughs. H's heart rose; Draco still loved him. In spite of Snape, Draco still loved him.  
  
**  
  
As the weeks went by since the day Draco had given him to Snape, H was terrified to note the growing importance Snape was assuming in his lover's eyes.  
  
He had been quick to note that Draco chose to spend with him those nights, and only those nights, following the ones H had spent with Snape. He also noticed that when Draco remained for one of those evenings at Snape's, he would never touch H except to make him more readily available or an easier offering to Snape. It was extremely rare for him to stay, and he never did unless at Snape's express request. Whenever he did, he remained fully dressed, as he had done that first time, keeping quiet, adding wood to the fire, serving Snape something to drink, but not drinking himself.  
  
H felt that Draco was watching him the way a lion trainer watches the animal he trained, careful to see that it performs with complete obedience and thus does honour to him, but even more the way a prince's bodyguard keeps an eye on the prostitute he has gone down to fetch from the street. The proof that he was indeed yielding to the role of servant or acolyte resided in the fact that he watched Snape's face more closely than he did H's. He only seemed to pay attention to H's face when it was damp with tears or slack with satiation. For this sensual pleasure Draco paid obeisance, expressed admiration and even gratitude to Snape, pleased that he had deigned to take pleasure in something Draco had given him.  
  
H often thought that everything would have been much simpler if Snape had desired Draco, and H did not doubt that Draco would have readily granted to Snape both the slightest and the most demanding of his requests. But Snape clearly considered him a brother, a protg, a comrade. H realized that through the medium of his body, shared between them, they attained something more mysterious and perhaps more intense than an amorous communion. But why did Draco, in Snape's presence, refrain not only from taking H, but also from giving him any order?  
  
H asked him why, certain beforehand of the reply.  
  
"Out of respect," Draco replied.  
  
"But I belong to you," H had said.  
  
"You belong to Severus first."  
  
And it was true, at least in the sense that when Draco had surrendered him to his friend, the surrender had been absolute. Snape's slightest desire took precedence over Draco's decisions as far as he was concerned, and even over H's. If Draco had decided that they would dine together and go to the theatre, and Snape happened to owl him with a request for H's companionship even so little as an hour before he was to pick up H, Draco would change his plans without hesitation. Once, and only once, H asked Draco to please ask Snape to change the day, because he so much wanted to go with Draco to a party to which they were both invited. Draco had refused.  
  
"My sweet angel," he said, "you mean you still haven't understood that you no longer belong to me, that I'm no longer the master who's in charge of you?"  
  
Not only had Draco refused, but also he had told Snape of H's request and asked Snape to punish him harshly enough so that he would never again dare even to conceive of shirking his duties.  
  
"Certainly," Snape replied.  
  
Draco remained only long enough to betray H and hear Snape's reply. Then he shook hands with Snape, smiled at H, and left. Through the window, H saw him crossing the courtyard to the Apparation point. He did not turn around, did not say good-bye.  
  
In a little mirror imbedded in the wall by the front door, H caught a glimpse of his own image. He was white with fear and despair. Mechanically, he walked past Snape into the main part of the house, glancing only briefly into Snape's face.  
  
The other man was as pale as he.  
  
In a flash, he was absolutely certain that Snape loved him, but it was a fleeting certainty that vanished as fast as it had come. Although he did not believe it and chided himself for having thought of it, he was comforted and undressed meekly, on a mere signal from Snape. Then, and for the first time since Snape had been making H come there two or three times a week, for the first time in spite of the fear which convulsed him - or perhaps because of that fear - H opened to him. In spite of the chagrin he felt at Draco's betrayal, he surrendered and let Snape possess him completely. And for the first time, after he was allowed to roll onto his back after Snape had finished taking his pleasure, so gentle were his eyes when they fastened on Snape's dark, burning gaze, that Snape suddenly spoke to him.  
  
"I'm going to put a gag in your mouth, H, because I intend to whip you till I draw blood. Do I have your permission?"  
  
"I'm yours," H said simply.  
  
H stood and held his hands up toward the chain hanging from a ring in the ceiling, standing quietly as Snape fastened the leather cuffs around his wrists. Snape caressed his nipples then kissed them, then kissed his mouth once, ten times, although he had never kissed H before this.  
  
And when Snape had put on the gag, he took him by the hair, pulled back his head and kissed his scar. "Forgive me, H," he murmured, then he let him go, took a step back, and struck.  
  
**  
  
When Draco returned to H's flat after midnight, after having gone alone to the party they had intended to go to together, he found H in bed. Snape had brought him home, had bathed him and dressed him in his nightshirt, had put him to bed, and had kissed him again. H told Draco that. He also told Draco that he no longer had any inclination not to obey Snape, realizing full well that from this his lover would conclude that he deemed it essential, and even pleasant, to be beaten. What he was also certain of was that it was essential to Draco that H be beaten.  
  
H had determined that Draco was as horrified at the idea of striking H himself as he enjoyed seeing him struggle and hearing him scream. Perhaps he needed even more to know that while he was not with H, while he was away at work or a party, H was writhing, moaning, and crying beneath the whip, was asking for his pity and not obtaining it - and was aware that this pain and humiliation had been inflicted on him by the will of his lover. At Hogwarts, he had had H flogged by the valets and the other masters. In Snape, Draco had found the stern master he himself was unable to be.  
  
The fact that the man Draco most admired in the world could take a fancy to H and take the trouble to tame him only made Draco's passion all the greater, as H could plainly see. Each time he emerged from Snape's arms, Draco looked for the mark of his god upon him. H knew full well that Draco had betrayed him a few hours before in order to provoke new, and crueller, marks.  
  
And H also knew that, though the reasons for provoking those marks might disappear, Snape would not turn back. H knew that he could expect to be whipped more frequently.  
  
Draco gazed for a long time at his thin body marked by thick, purple welts like so many ropes spanning the shoulders, the back, the buttocks, the belly, and the chest, welts which sometimes overlapped and crisscrossed. Here and there a little blood still oozed.  
  
"Oh, how I love you," he murmured, amazed and overwhelmed.  
  
With trembling hands, Draco took off his clothes, turned out the light, and lay down next to H, taking his sex into his mouth. H moaned in the darkness, caught between pleasure and pain, between delight and despair, all the time Draco possessed him.  
  
**  
  
The welts on H's body took almost a month to disappear. In places where the skin had been broken, he still bore the traces of slightly whiter lines, like very old scars. If ever he were inclined to forget where they came from, Draco and Snape were there to remind him.  
  
Draco, of course, had a key to H's flat. He hadn't thought to give one to Snape, probably because, till now, Snape had not evinced the desire to visit H's place. But the fact that he had brought H home that night suddenly made Draco realize that this door might be considered by Snape as an obstacle, a barrier, a restriction deliberately imposed by Draco. And it was ridiculous to give him H if he did not at the same time give him the freedom to come and go at H's whenever he pleased. In short, he had a key made, gave it to Snape, and told H only after Snape had accepted it.  
  
He did not dream of protesting, and soon discovered that, while waiting for Snape to appear, he felt incomprehensibly peaceful. H waited for a long time, wondering whether Snape would surprise him by coming in the middle of the night, whether he would take advantage of one of Draco's absences, whether he would come alone, or indeed whether he would even come at all. He did not dare speak about it to Draco, though.  
  
One morning when H had gotten up later than usual and, at ten o'clock, was dressed and ready to go out, he heard a key turning in the lock and flew to the door shouting, "Draco!"  
  
It was Snape, who smiled and said to him, "Draco has a business appointment and will be here in an hour. I thought I would take you to lunch later."  
  
H, his heart pounding wildly, watched Snape as he moved around H's flat, guiding H toward his bedroom. He sat H down on the bed, took his head in both his hands, and forced his mouth open slightly in order to kiss him. H was so out of breath that he might have fallen back on the bed if Snape had not held him. But he did hold him, kissing him again and again. H could not understand why his throat was knotted by such a feeling of anxiety for, after all, what did he have to fear from Snape that he had not already experienced?  
  
Snape released him and bade H remove all his clothes, watching without saying a word as he obeyed. This was not unusual. Wasn't he, in fact, quite accustomed to Snape's silence, as he was accustomed to waiting for him to decide what his pleasure would be? Snape delighted in using him slowly, sometimes making him wait for an hour, naked, without coming near him, listening to his entreaties without ever replying, for there were times when he did beg and beseech for a touch, even if it was just the touch of the whip. Snape was a man of ritual, enjoining H to do the same things always at the same moments, so that he knew when his mouth was supposed to caress Snape and when, on his knees, his head buried in the silken sofa, he should offer his buttocks, which Snape now possessed with ease.  
  
H now had to admit he had been deceiving himself when he thought he was comfortable with Snape's silences, and that the reason for him being upset was his own self-consciousness. This encounter was not taking place in some specific spot to which he had to repair in order to submit to it, and not at night thereby partaking of a dream or of some clandestine existence. It was taking place in H's own bedroom, where only Draco had seen him naked, and in daylight.  
  
Oddly enough, H was thinking -- at last. Snape was a far more demanding but also a far surer master than Draco. And however passionately H loved Draco, there was between them a kind of equality of age, which eliminated in him any feeling of obedience or awareness of his submission. Whatever Draco wanted, H wanted too, solely because he was asking it. Whatever orders Snape gave, H obeyed without question because he had to obey, and was grateful to him for having given them.  
  
And so, his clothes neatly disposed of on the chair beside the wardrobe, his feet once again wearing his slippers, he waited with lowered eyes. Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows, and it immediately occurred to H that he should have put on more perfumed oil, that he had not made up his eyes or nipples. Then he suddenly knew that he was eagerly waiting for Snape to make some signal, for him to order H to kneel down before him, unbutton him, and caress him. At this realization he turned scarlet, and as he was blushing he was thinking what a fool he was to blush: such modesty and shame in a whore!  
  
Snape ordered H to lie down on the bed, settling him so that he lay on his back against the pillows, one foot flat on the mattress and the other curled to the side slightly, so that his body was open and revealed. Snape sat beside him, taking his sex in hand, and began asking questions with a judge-like resolution and the skill of a father confessor as he slowly stroked H. He asked whether H had, since his return from Hogwarts, belonged to other men besides Draco and himself? Whether he caressed himself at night, when he was alone? Whether he had any girl friends he caressed or who he allowed to caress him? Whether he had wanted to belong to any other man he might have met?  
  
H replied no to all these questions, his mind a blur from the sensations Snape was causing. He was on the verge of yielding to the caresses of Snape's hand and allowing a moan to escape from his lips. He failed to hold it back, did in fact moan, and found himself sprawled flat on his back with the length of Snape's body pressing him down into the bed and Snape's mouth on his, brutally possessing him. H closed his eyes and surrendered.  
  
Later, much later, he realized that Draco had arrived and was straddling the chair, talking with Snape who had resumed his clothes and was sitting on the end of the bed. He vaguely was aware that their conversation concerned him but did not need to listen. It did not matter. Snape had made him submit to all his fantasies, had moulded him to his own taste, had demanded and obtained from him, as something quite routine, the most outrageous acts. He had nothing more to give than that he already possessed. At least so H thought.  
  
Snape was speaking and his remarks, as well as Draco's, revealed that they were renewing a conversation they often engaged in together, with H as the subject. It was a question of how he could best be utilized, and how the things each of them had learned from his particular use could best be shared. Snape readily admitted that H was infinitely more lovely when his body was covered with marks, of whatever kind, if only because these marks made it impossible for him to cheat and immediately proclaimed, the moment they were seen, that anything went as far as he was concerned. For to know this was one thing, but to see the proof of it, and to see the proof constantly renewed, was quite another. Draco, Snape said, was perfectly right in wishing to have him whipped.  
  
They decided that he would be whipped as often as necessary so that some trace of the flogging could always be seen upon him, irrespective of the pleasure they might derive from his screams and tears. H, lying motionless on his back, his sex still aflame, was listening, and he had the feeling that by some strange substitution Snape was speaking for him, in his place. As though he was somehow in H's body and could feel the anxiety, the anguish, and the shame, but also the secret pride and pleasure he felt, especially when he was alone in a crowd of strangers, that his secrets could be easily revealed should his robes be opened for any reason.  
  
Then Snape and Draco turned to him; each took him by one hand and helped him to his feet. It was time for him to get dressed.  
  
**  
  
It was during the lunch that followed that Snape, who had taken him to lunch alone, began to question him once again. Snape had produced a Muggle car from somewhere and had driven into the countryside, stopping at the little inn in the centre of a small town along the way. The dining room was almost empty, it being past the usual luncheon hour, and Snape had requested a table in a dark back corner. Even before Snape could make a sign to him, H had obediently lifted his robes as he sat down on the chair, and it had taken his bare thighs a long time to warm the cold wood. Snape was seated across from him, questioning him again about his friends and co-workers, if there were any in particularly that H had felt an interest in.  
  
H spoke slowly, determined not to say anything that was not true or to fuel Snape's assertion that he was easy. As he spoke, he raised his eyes and realized that Snape was staring at his lips. Was he listening to what he was saying, or was he merely listening to the sound of his voice and watching the movement of his lips?  
  
Suddenly he stopped speaking, and Snape's gaze rose and intercepted his own. What he read in Snape's eyes was so clear this time, and it was so obvious to Snape that H had seen it, that now it was his turn to blanch. H wanted to look away but he could neither avert his gaze nor smile, nor speak. Had his life depended on it, he would have been incapable of making a gesture, incapable of fleeing; his legs would never have carried him. If, indeed, Snape did love him, would he ever forgive H for having noticed it?  
  
He knew that Snape would probably never want anything from him save submission to his desire, as long as he continued to desire H. But was desire sufficient to explain the fact that, from the day Draco had handed H over to him, Snape asked for him more and more frequently, sometimes merely to have him there, without asking anything from him?  
  
There he sat across from H, silent and motionless. H was delighted to feel that if his dark, ardent gaze wandered from his eyes, it was to fasten on his chest or his hands, before returning to his eyes. Finally he saw the trace of a smile appear on Snape's lips, a smile he dared to answer. But utter a single word, impossible! He could barely breathe.  
  
"H..." Snape said.  
  
Yes," H said, faintly.  
  
"H, what I'm going to speak to you about I have already discussed with Draco, and we're both in accord on it. But also, I..." He broke off.  
  
The waiter was changing plates, bringing Snape the menu so he could choose the dessert. H couldn't hear what he had selected; his heart was beating loudly in his ears. The waiter left.  
  
And Snape went on in a steady voice, and what he said quickly convinced H that one thing at least was certain: if he did love H, nothing would be changed, unless one considered this curious respect a change, this ardour with which he was saying, "I'd be most pleased if you would care to..." instead of simply asking H to accede to his requests. Yet they were still orders, and there was no question of H's not obeying them. He pointed this out to Snape.  
  
Snape admitted as much. "I still want your answer," he said.  
  
"I'll do whatever you like," H responded, and the echo of what he was saying resounded in his memory. "I'll do whatever you like," he was used to saying to Draco.  
  
"Draco knows what I want from you. Listen to me." Snape was speaking in a low, carefully controlled voice, which was inaudible at the neighbouring tables. Whenever the waiters approached their table, he fell silent, resuming his sentence where he had left off as soon as they had moved away. What he was saying seemed strange and out of keeping with this peaceful, public place, and yet what was strangest of all was that he could say it, and H hear it, so naturally.  
  
Snape began by reminding H that the first evening when he had come to his home, he had given him an order he had refused to obey, and he noted that although he might have slapped him then, he had never repeated the order since that night. Would H grant him now what he had refused him then? H understood that not only must he acquiesce, but that he wanted to hear H say it himself, in his own words, say that he would caress himself any time Snape asked him to. He said it, and again he saw the drawing room, Draco's departure from it, and his inability, that first evening, when he was lying naked on the rug. He wondered if Snape would make him do that tonight, would make him lie on that rug and pleasure himself while dark eyes watched him.  
  
Snape smiled faintly, as if he could read H's thoughts. He also pointed out that H had never been possessed in his presence by Draco or by anyone else, as he had been by Snape in Draco's presence. From this he should not conclude that Draco would be the only one to hand him over to a man who did not love him in the presence of the man who did love him. H hardly heard what came next. In the presence of the man who did love him. What more was wanted in the way of a confession?  
  
Hadn't it ever struck him as surprising, this isolation in which he had kept H? They were the only men he saw, either together or one after the other. Whenever Snape had invited people to his house, H was never invited. He had never lunched or dined at his place. Nor had Draco ever introduced him to any of his friends, except for Snape. In all probability Draco would continue to keep H in the background, for to Snape was henceforth reserved the privilege of doing as he liked with H. But he should not get the idea that he belonged to him, that he would be detained more legally, on the contrary.  
  
Snape reminded him that when first they had met, he had told him that irons were becoming to him. He now revealed that this had been a mode of recognition, a password. Snape had not had to use the second formula, namely, whose irons was he wearing? But if today this question were asked of H, what would he reply?  
  
H hesitated. "Draco's and yours," he said.  
  
"No," Snape said, "mine. Draco wants you to be answerable first of all to me."  
  
H flushed. He was fully cognizant of this, why did he pretend he was not?  
  
Snape added that in a short while, H would have to accept a definitive mark. The traces of the floggings on his body or the marks raised by the riding crop would be discreet compared to this ultimate mark. It would be permanent.  
  
But what would the mark be, of what would it consist, in what way would it be definitive? H, terrified and fascinated, was dying to know, he had to know immediately. But it was obvious that Snape was not yet ready to explain it. And it was true that he had to accept, to consent in the real sense of the term, for nothing would be inflicted upon him by force to which he had not already previously consented. He could refuse, nothing was keeping him enslaved except his love and his self-enslavement.  
  
And yet, before this mark was imposed upon him, even before Snape became accustomed to flogging him, as had been decided by Draco and himself, to flogging him in such a way that the traces were constantly visible, he would be granted a reprieve - the time required for him to make another man, one chosen by Draco and himself, submit to H.  
  
Stunned, H raised his head and looked at Snape. Why?  
  
"There are two reasons," Snape said. "The first, and least important, is that I would like to see you kiss and caress another man, to see you with a man under your control, in your possession, as you are in mine."  
  
"But even assuming that this man gives in to me," cried H, "how in the world do you expect me to make him consent to your being present?"  
  
"That's the least of my worries," Snape said. "If necessary, by betrayal. Anyway, I'm counting on you for a great deal more than that, for the second reason why I want you to seduce him is that you're to be the bait that lures him to Hogwarts."  
  
H set down the cup of coffee he was holding in his hand, shaking so violently that he spilled the viscous dregs of coffee and sugar at the bottom of the cup. Like a soothsayer, he saw unbearable images in the spreading brown stain on the tablecloth: a young man's glazed eyes confronting the valet Oliver, his flanks exposed to view below the folds of his long green velvet robe with its tucked-up hem, his downy cheeks stained with tears and his painted mouth open and screaming, and his red hair - no, it was impossible.  
  
"No, it's out of the question," he said.  
  
"Of course it's not," Snape retorted. "How do you think others are recruited for Hogwarts? Once you have brought him there, the matter will be completely out of your hands, and anyway, if he wants to leave, he can. Come along now."  
  
Snape suddenly got to his feet, leaving the money for the bill on the table. He looked down at H who was still seated, having been surprised by the suddenness of Snape's movement, dark eyes fixed upon H's face. H would have sworn that Snape was watching his mouth again.  
  
"There is one other thing I ask of you," he said shortly. "You are to call me Severus."  
  
He turned and walked briskly out of the inn, getting into the car. H followed him, climbed in, and sat down, not daring to speak for fear of shouting out the joy that had filled his heart. Without another word, Snape started the car and drove away from the inn.  
  
Scarcely had they left the little town when Snape turned in to a side road, stopped the car in a narrow, deserted lane, and pulled H into his arms.  
  
********************  
  
The bulge beneath Harry's cheek seemed to have reached painful proportions by the time Harry finished his tale, to judge by his lover's groan as he accidentally brushed against it. Harry didn't let his lover suffer any longer; he rolled over onto his knees on the couch, freed his lover's cock from its imprisonment, and swallowed it down in one swift movement.  
  
His lover's gasp and moan echoed through the room, then Harry's head was roughly pulled up and his mouth devoured. As he felt his lover lift him into his arms and carry him toward the bedroom, he smirked and noted that it would no doubt be another long, sleepless night.  
  
Not that he was complaining.  
  
End of Part Two


	3. Part Three: The Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H has been ordered to seduce one of his friends, for the purpose of pleasing his new master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 WARNINGS: Extreme content. This part contains Sadism/masochism, Dominance/submission, whippings, and multiple partners.

Harry rolled over on the hearthrug and groaned. He ached in parts of his body that he thought it was impossible to ache in. His mouth felt permanently bruised, his nipples the size of mangos, his cock as if he'd masturbated with sandpaper, and the less said about his arse, the better. Even his *hair* hurt.  
  
On the other hand, he'd never felt so sated in his life.  
  
He glanced over at his lover who was stretched out on the couch, one arm over his eyes. He looked as if the Knight bus had hit him - then backed up and hit him again. Harry thought that at least it was nice to know that he had company in his misery.  
  
"I think it might be possible for a person to have too much sex," he said.  
  
The prone figure on the couch said, from beneath his arm, "I'm not talking to you, Potter."  
  
Harry grinned, then winced as the movement pulled at his sore lips. "Hey, it's not my fault that you were late this morning!"  
  
"It is entirely your fault," his lover insisted. "You and your perverse, erotic fantasies." There was a moment of silence. "Speaking of which, surely you do not intend to leave it there?"  
  
Harry groaned. "Have a heart! I don't think my body can take any more, and you don't look much better."  
  
His lover lowered his arm to glare at Harry. "That may be true. However, on the other side of that door is an enormous bath generously equipped with healing aids."  
  
"I like the way you think." Harry pushed himself up from the floor and held out a hand to help his lover up.  
  
Accepting the assistance, his lover then pulled him close to brush a kiss over his lips and then murmur in his ear, "The feeling is mutual."  
  
Harry shivered and pulled his lover in the direction of the bathroom. He had a story to continue.  
  
***********************  
  
 **Part Three - The Seduction**  
  
When H returned to work the Monday following his lunch with Severus, his thoughts were on what had been said during lunch, that he and Draco would require H to seduce a young man of their choosing. Despite himself, H was intrigued with the idea. He wondered whom they would choose, and why they needed H to do this. Having thought over the matter, H concluded that the object of their focus was likely someone of H's acquaintance. With this thought in mind, H looked around the office with new eyes.  
  
The place where H worked was an old warehouse on Ardent Alley. It had been converted into the publication offices for a new Wizarding magazine targeted at the young adult population. Upon leaving school, H had accepted a position as lead editor for the magazine. He had both an eye for layout and a way of getting the most disparate personalities to work together, and the magazine had become a phenomenal success in its first year under his management.  
  
So his staff was surprised when H had finally taken a vacation just when planning for the holiday edition was beginning. What surprised them more was how changed he was on his return from Hogwarts.  
  
At first glance, they found it hard to say exactly what was changed about him, but they felt it. He stood and walked straighter, his eyes were clearer. But what was especially striking about him was how perfect he was in repose, how measured his gestures and answers. It was as if he had developed a calm centre at his core, a silence and serenity that he carried with him everywhere.  
  
His appearance had changed as well. H had always been a casual dresser, unconcerned about what he was wearing so long as it fit and was clean. Now he seemed to have taken an intense interest in what he wore, the way it fit and draped, the way the colours accented his pallor, and wore robes cut so full that they swirled when he turned. H wore them so often, as if they were a uniform of sorts, distinguished only by colour.  
  
"Very stylish robes," said Ron, his sports writer, "but only really *old* wizards muck about without trousers, mate."  
  
H flushed. This remark had been occasioned when H had sat down somewhat hastily in Ron's presence and had flashed a bit of naked thigh. H had seen him smile, so strangely that he wondered what the other man was thinking. He had smoothed his robes while thinking what to say.  
  
"It's comfortable. And cooler."  
  
But Ron had not been listening to him, looking instead at the iron and gold ring.  
  
**  
  
Draco met Ron a month after their return from Hogwarts, just a few short weeks after taking H to meet Severus for the first time. Draco arrived at H's office earlier than usual, so pleased with Severus' acceptance of H that he kissed him in the office. He kissed him front of H's assistant, Hermione, in front of Ron, and in front of Colin, their staff photographer. All of whom - for some inexplicable reason - had turned up in the hallway outside his office just at that moment. Hermione and Colin melted away, not without giving H envious looks. Ron lingered for a few minutes, not seeming to mind that Draco's arms were wrapped around H, his hands resting possessively on H's buttocks.  
  
"I was just passing," Ron said to H. "I wanted to ask you about the layout for next month but I gather this isn't the right moment. I'll be on my way."  
  
"Please don't go," Draco called after him, without letting go of H. H was glad that Draco was interested in his friends and introduced them: Ron, Draco; Draco, Ron.  
  
Ron came back, smiled, and held out his hand for Draco to shake. H saw that Draco's eyes were drawn to Ron and followed his gaze. Ron was wearing an open robe over a Chudley Cannons shirt and trousers, and both emphasized his height and athletic build. H was surprised; he had never noticed Ron's appearance before this. Now he felt that no one could resist the desire to run his hands under those clothes and feel the supple skin underneath. The thought made him flush.  
  
They left the office together, Ron and Draco discussing World Cup prospects. Outside, the snow, which had been falling in large flakes for two hours, fell now in eddies of thin little white flies, stinging the face. H felt the icy wind rising along his legs and fastening on his naked thighs, teasing his naked sex, and he shivered. Draco immediately turned to him, all concern and caring. Was H cold? Then why were they standing about here, talking, when there was a warm pub just around the corner? He turned back to Ron, courteously inviting him to join them. Ron demurred, said "some other time", and moved off down the sidewalk, and Draco hastened to escort H into the warmth. But H was certain that for a moment, his eyes had lingered on the man walking away from them.  
  
**  
  
Now, as H looked around the office with new, appraising eyes, his gaze fell on Ron. They had been spending quite a lot of time together this month working on the Quidditch edition. H's office was littered with photos, player bios, articles about the teams and interviews with the coaches. Ron had taken to dropping in with new ideas whenever they occurred to him. Ron had a knack for extracting information in his interviews in a way no other sports writer had, a way of making the most boring statistics exciting. His love for the sport was apparent in everything he did and said. H found himself watching Ron more and more as the month went on.  
  
He caught Ron once doing an interview with a player in his office. The expression on his face as he laughed at one of the comments captured H's imagination. His head was thrown back in laughter, and in H's mind's eye, he saw Ron with his head thrown back in pained pleasure, his body encased in heavy, cascading velvet, his nipples raised in a tight bodice. Ron was wearing a high-collared shirt under his open robe, the white collar and cuffs contrasting against the dark fabric of his clothes. H caught himself thinking that he would be even more beautiful with a leather collar and leather bracelets.  
  
And then he did something he had never done. When Ron finished the interview and headed for the bathroom, H followed him. Washing his hands at the sink, he watched Ron in the large mirror and thought of him in a room filled with mirrors, his long lashes lying against his pale skin, his flaming hair the only bright spot in the darkness.  
  
Ron glanced up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, so direct and steady that, without being able to look away, H felt himself slowly blushing. He murmured something and hurried out of the room, and hid in the copy-editor's office for an hour.  
  
When he returned to his office, H found that among the folders on his desk were the latest publicity photos of his staff. Without knowing exactly why, he slipped the pictures of Ron into his briefcase to take home.  
  
**  
  
"It's Ron, isn't it?" H murmured to Severus that evening.  
  
They were at H's flat as Draco was out of town for a meeting. H was lying on the white fur in front of his fireplace. Severus sat on the floor beside him, his fingers trailing across H's sweat-streaked back, tracing the fading whip marks across his back and buttocks.  
  
"The one you and Draco want me to seduce. It's Ron."  
  
Severus leaned over to press a kiss to one of the marks that graced H's buttocks. "Draco has mentioned the name. Have you any photographs of the young man?"  
  
In reply, H got up and pulled the folder out of his briefcase, then silently handed it to Severus. Severus looked at each photo in turn and H lay back on the fur, watching his face.  
  
As usual, there was little to be seen of his emotions other than cool assessment. He slowly looked through the collection of photos - some posed studio pieces, some with other staff members, and several on location at Quidditch matches. He commented on the way the photographer had captured the passion in Ron's eyes while watching a match, citing it was this which had no doubt caught Draco's attention. While noting that the young man's skin would no doubt take colour from the whip well, he seemed more interested in the skill of the photographer who had taken the pictures.  
  
"Look at this one - the way he's captured him just as he realizes that the Seeker caught the Snitch, the way he's caught the light in his eyes at that moment. And this one," Severus said, tossing the picture carelessly down on the fur alongside H, "the framing is quite excellent..."  
  
H lay watching, letting Severus' voice wash over him, a half-smile on his lips as the photos fell unheeded around him. Severus looked down at him, annoyance on his face at H's lack of response to his comments. The annoyance disappeared. Severus flung the rest of the photos down on the fur where they shone like puddles of water at night, pressed H's thighs hard against his chest, and swiftly sank inside of H.  
  
With his lips against H's, he murmured, "Insolent boy. I should whip you soundly, but I swore I'd give you a reprieve until you've seduced Ron." Fiercely, his lips possessed H's. "You have two weeks."  
  
"But what if I fail?" H protested.  
  
"Then I shall punish you severely," Severus promised and H shivered. "But you will not fail. And you shall keep me apprised of your progress, every detail, every word, every caress."  
  
What could H do but agree?  
  
**  
  
H had believed, or wanted to believe in order to give himself a good excuse for failure - not that Snape had ever allowed any excuses - that Ron would be uncommonly shy. He was enlightened on this score the moment he decided to open his eyes. The modest air Ron assumed, turning away when he changed after a photo shoot, turning his face away when he caught H looking at him, were in fact clearly intended to inflame H, to force H into pursuit. That H's decision to pursue him finally came from another authority and was not the result of Ron's strategy did not appear to have occurred to him.  
  
At first H was amused by Ron's games. As he took a few liberties while helping Ron straighten his collar and robes after he'd completed posing with one of the teams, H found himself delighted at the idea that the very same evening, Severus would be apprised of Ron's every gesture. He would know whether Ron had allowed H to fondle his nipples through the black jumper, whether he had lowered his eyelids till those pale lashes were touching his cheeks, whether he had sighed or moaned when H kissed him.  
  
Amusement soon turned to annoyance. Ron did not return H's pursuit, did not initiate any contact between them. When H embraced him, Ron became heavy, motionless, and expectant in his arms, his lips slightly parted, waiting for H to kiss him but not moving to kiss H first. H always had to be careful to hold him by both shoulders and lean him up against the frame of a door or against a table, otherwise he would have slipped to the floor, his eyes closed, without a sound. However, the minute H let go of him, Ron would again turn into ice and snow, teasing and distant, would say, "You've mussed my hair", and turn away.  
  
It was this distant stranger that H almost enjoyed betraying by carefully noting - so as not to forget anything and be able to relate everything in detail - the slow flush of his cheeks, the smell of arousal and sweat, the momentary surrender in his eyes. It was impossible for him to say whether Ron was deliberately teasing him or just on his guard for some reason. When Ron yielded to H's kisses - and all he had so far granted or accepted from H were unreturned kisses - Ron yielded abruptly as if he had become someone else. The rest of the time he was both amusing and distant, never laying himself open either to a word or gesture, or even a look, which would allow H to feel victorious.  
  
The only indication H had as a guide, was an occasional, apparently involuntary, trace of a smile on Ron's face, fleeting and uncertain. It did not take H long to realize that this smile could be provoked by two things, and that Ron was unaware of either.  
  
The first was when gifts were given to him. Ron was as proud as a Lord and would have refused anything expensive or ostentatious (the sort of things Draco would have chosen as gifts) but a copy of a new Quidditch book or a box of Honeyduke's chocolates would see that surprised, uncertain smile appear. That tremulous smile intoxicated H, made him seek other ways to generate it, made him hunt up other little gifts to please Ron.  
  
The other time that H had seen that smile was when someone influential flattered Ron's vanity, either by favourably commenting on his school successes at Quidditch or upon his articles. H's comments were the exception. Ron appearing to take them as his due - or perhaps because he knew H was interested in him? In any case, Ron seemed to think his desire was harmless and of no consequence, and while he allowed H certain liberties, he did nothing to encourage them.  
  
H had barely mentioned both of these thoughts to Severus, who was chiding him for his slowness, when Draco stepped in. The five or six times that Draco had come by for H since that first meeting, he had nodded a friendly greeting to the young man. Now he took to inviting Ron to join them after work at one of the pubs nearby, an invitation that Ron occasionally accepted.  
  
On these occasions, they would sit at a table in the pub as H and Ron talked about work, Quidditch, their coworkers, and other subjects. Draco listened, only occasionally adding to the conversation. He would contemplate Ron with precisely the same mixture of interest, self-assurance, and arrogance with which he had gazed at the boys who had been at his disposal at Hogwarts. The arrogance slid harmlessly off Ron; he didn't appear to even be aware of it. By a curious contradiction, H was disturbed by it, judging that an attitude he considered quite natural for Draco to have towards him to be insulting to Ron. Was he taking up cudgels in defence of Ron, or was it merely that he wanted Ron's friendship all to himself? He would have been hard put to answer that question, all the more so because he did not have him all to himself - at least not yet.  
  
But when he finally did succeed, he had to admit it was thanks to Draco. On three occasions, upon leaving the bar where they had given Ron considerably more whisky than he should have drunk, they had escorted Ron home before Draco took H to Severus'. Ron lived in one of those old Wizarding houses that seemed to have expanded by need rather than design, out in the countryside. Each time Draco wanted to come in after they'd Apparated into the front yard, and each time Ron would utter "not tonight" or "thanks so much," and hurry inside, slamming the door behind him as though he had suddenly been burned by some tongue of flame.  
  
And it was true, H would say to himself, that he was being pursued by fire. It was admirable that Ron had sensed it, even though he had no concrete evidence of it as yet. At least he realized that he had to be on his guard with Draco, whose detachment did not seem to affect him in the slightest. Or did it? And as far as seeming unaffected, two could play at that game, and Draco was a worthy opponent for Ron.  
  
The only time that Ron let H come into the house and follow him up to his room, H had understood why he had so adamantly refused Draco permission to set foot in the house. What would have happened to his prestige, his bio on the slick pages of the sporting magazines, his appearance in the eyes of the indolent and well-bred Draco, if someone other than H had seen the rabbit's warren from which Ron issued forth every day? The house was cluttered, the furnishings worn, and the place populated by more people than it appeared from outside could possibly reside within. And while it was clear that Ron was fond of his family, it was equally clear that he was embarrassed by their financial situation and irritated by the fact that much of his income was swallowed up by family needs.  
  
It was because of H's report on Ron's circumstances to Severus that Draco made a proposal that was to alter their lives. But it was because of his family that Ron accepted. Draco's suggestion was that Ron should come and live with H. Ron could share the expenses and be spared the tedium of Apparating both ways daily, and yet assure Ron's parents that he was living in a safe environment. Ron had agreed without hesitation, seeming to find with each passing day more advantages to the situation without appearing to care about any of the pitfalls.  
  
It remained to H, and H alone, to present the matter to Ron's parents. Never had H been more keenly aware of playing the role of traitor, never had he felt so sure that he was the envoy of some criminal organization as when he found himself in the presence of his mum and dad. They thanked him profusely for befriending their son and safeguarding him from the dangers of London. And at the same time, deep in his heart, H was repudiating his mission and the reasons that had brought him there. Yes, Ron would move in with him, but never, never would H acquiesce so completely to Severus as to deliver Ron into his hands.  
  
And yet...  
  
No sooner had Ron moved into H's flat than H, contrary to all expectations, was obsessed with the burning desire to have Ron at any price, even if attaining his goal meant handing him over to Severus. After all, he rationalized, Ron's size is quite sufficient protection for him while at Hogwarts, and besides, why should I get involved in it anyway? And what if he were to be reduced to what I have been? Was that really so terrible?  
  
He scarcely admitted how sweet it would be to see Ron naked and defenceless beside him, like him.  
  
Once Ron moved in, Draco proved to be exceedingly zealous in his attentions toward the two of them. He had insisted that Ron take the bedroom that Draco pretended to occupy during his visits to H, given that he always slept in H's bed. He invited them every other day to dinner at expensive restaurants. He took them to the Muggle cinema and concerts, to museums and sporting events. He invited them to glittering Ministry parties and fashionable soirees. If H was unable to attend because of his commitments to Severus (which they passed off during those first weeks as budget meetings for the magazine), Draco would persuade Ron to accompany him so that neither of them would be bored while H was thus occupied. Or if Ron and H desired to spend a quiet evening at home, Draco would sit in front of their fire and talk about subjects that Ron enjoyed. And when it was time for bed, he would invariably give each of them a chaste kiss before departing, for he rarely spent the night with H since Ron had moved in.  
  
Ron seemed to have no problem with Draco's attentions. Once he had accepted the fact that he was living with H and that H was Draco's lover, he consequently seemed to find Draco's little familiarities quite natural. It did not seem to bother him in the least to have Draco come into his room under the pretense of looking for some piece of paper he had left there. Draco's touches and teasing seemed to be accepted as easily as that of a brother's might have been. Ron seemed quite at ease walking about the flat in pyjamas and dressing gown on those evenings when Draco visited, and even asked his advice on picking out appropriate attire to wear for important interviews.  
  
Ron also appeared to have abandoned his morals or concerns regarding H's seduction of him. He seemed more at ease with H's touches and kisses, even returning them on occasion. And five days after he had unpacked his suitcases, Ron simply appeared, naked and still wet from his bath, in H's doorway.  
  
"You're sure Draco's not coming back?" he asked, and without even waiting for an answer, he slipped into H's big bed. He allowed himself to be kissed and caressed, his eyes closed, until finally he cried out and fell asleep sprawled across the bed.  
  
H covered him and turned out the light. When, two hours later, H touched him again, in the dark, Ron did not resist but murmured, "Don't wear me out completely, I have to get up early tomorrow."  
  
H was puzzled but accepted this turn-about with a shrug. When informed of his success in seducing Ron, Severus expressed his pleasure in a quite satisfactory manner. Draco said nothing but smiled a peculiar half-smile and took both Ron and H out for a champagne brunch at the most exclusive restaurant in Wizarding Paris the next day.  
  
**  
  
About a month after Ron moved in, he was chosen by England's Quidditch team as their press liaison. H suspected that Draco had had a hand in obtaining for him, and Ron eagerly accepted he position. The only disagreeable aspect was that Ron had to be present for the early morning practices, so H rearranged their work schedules so that the senior staff worked from noon to seven to accommodate Ron's new schedule.  
  
Ron didn't seem to be as appreciative of that as he might have been, given the dark looks he gave H as he headed off each morning, bleary-eyed with coffee mug in hand. H, wrapped in his nightshirt and dressing gown, sleepily tousled, looked as if he were about to return to bed, which annoyed Ron greatly. More than once, he made a sharp comment about people who got to laze about half the day, and at least once he implied that he thought Draco was coming over in the mornings to be with H.  
  
Nothing could be further from the truth, for Severus had requested H's presence every morning. Thus, shortly after Ron left, H Flooed to Severus' house. Nora, the house elf, would lead H to the small bedroom where Severus had left him alone to sleep and cry that first evening, wait till H put his robes and shoes on the bed. Nora would put them away in a closet to which she alone had the key, then she would lead him to Severus' lab, where she would stand aside to let H pass.  
  
H never got used to these preparations. Stripping in front of the house elf who never said a word and scarcely looked at him seemed to him as dangerous as being naked at Hogwarts in the presence of the prefects. At the same time, he experienced a kind of pride that this servant was a witness to the fact that he was worthy of being used by Severus. For perhaps Severus did love him - without a doubt he did, and H sensed that the time was not far off when he would declare it to him. To the very degree that his love and desire for H were increasing, he was becoming more deliberately exacting and demanding in his rituals regarding H.  
  
Thus retained by his side for whole mornings, he did whatever Severus wanted with gratitude, enjoying it all the more whenever Severus' request took the form of a command. For each surrender was the pledge that another surrender would be demanded, each demand the assurance that more would be demanded of him. It was odd that he would be completely satisfied by it, and yet he was.  
  
Severus' lab, situated directly above the living room where he held sway in the evening, was fitted with worktables littered with strange apparatus, cabinets full of mysterious supplies, and a large roll-top desk in the corner. H sat there occasionally, opening and sorting Severus' mail and papers. Severus generally preferred to keep him near at hand, at arm's length, while he was busy with his potion making and research. Whenever he had a visitor, Nora would announce him and Severus would have him wait downstairs long enough for Nora to conduct H back to the room where he had undressed. Then, after Severus' visitor had left, she would come to fetch H again.  
  
Since Nora entered and left the study several times each morning to attend to the business of managing the household, and since she alone had the right to enter any room without knocking, it so happened that on one occasion Nora came into the room when H was bent over the desk with his rear exposed, his head and arms against the leather top, waiting for Severus to impale him. He raised his head. If Nora had not glanced at him, and she invariably never did, that would have been the only movement H would have made. But this time it was obvious that Nora was trying to catch H's eye. Those black, beady eyes fastened on his own. It was impossible for H to tell whether they bespoke indifference or not. H was suddenly so aware of his naked vulnerability that he made a movement to try and get away from Severus.  
  
Severus gathered what it was all about, and with one hand pinned him to the desk while prying him open with the other. H, who was constantly striving to cooperate and do his best, was quite involuntarily tense and contracted, and Severus had trouble forcing himself all the way in. He withdrew only when he was certain he could come and go with ease. Then, as Severus prepared to mount him again, he told Norah to wait, and said that she could help H get dressed when he had finished. H turned his face away from the house elf, humiliated beyond all else to be used like this in front of the creature, and in despair that Severus valued Nora more than him.  
  
And yet, before Severus dismissed H, he kissed him tenderly on the mouth. It was that kiss which, several days later, gave H the courage to tell Severus that Nora frightened him.  
  
"I should hope so," he retorted. "And when you wear my mark and my irons, as I trust you soon will, you'll have much more reason to be afraid of her."  
  
"Why?" H asked, "and what mark and what irons? I'm already wearing this ring."  
  
"That's completely up to Narcissa, to whom, in fact I've promised to show you. We're going to pay her a visit after lunch. I trust you don't mind? She's a friend of mine, and you may have noted that, till now, I've refrained from introducing you to my friends. When Narcissa is finished with you, I'll give you genuine reasons for being afraid of Nora, for she will whip you when I am unavailable."  
  
H did not dare to pursue the matter any further. This Narcissa whom Severus had threatened him with intrigued him more than Nora. Severus had already mentioned her when they had lunched together. And it was quite true that H knew none of Severus' friends, nor any of his acquaintances. In short, he was living in London, locked in his secret as though he had been locked in a brothel. It also seemed to him that this was his reason for existing and that Severus, like Draco, intended it should be. Whenever he spoke of his friends as he had done during their lunch out, it was to tell him that those to whom he might introduce him would be free to dispose of him however they wished. But in trying to visualize Narcissa and imagine what it might be that Severus expected from Narcissa as far as he was concerned, H was completely at sea, and not even his experience at Hogwarts was of any help to him.  
  
**  
  
Narcissa was staying in London at the moment, in a flat that occupied the entire floor of the most expensive Wizarding hotel. She was a slender woman, the same age more or less as Severus, and her blond hair was untinted by white or grey. Her eyes were of such a light blue that they looked grey. She offered H and Severus some coffee, very strong bitter coffee which she served steaming hot in tiny cups. When he had finished his coffee and got up from his chair to put his empty cup on a coffee table, Narcissa seized him by the wrist and, turning to Severus, said, "May I?"  
  
"Please do," Severus said.  
  
Then Narcissa, who until then had neither spoken to nor smiled at H, said to him softly, with a smile so tender one would have thought she were giving him a present, "Come, my child, let me see your body. Why don't you take off your robes?"  
  
While H obeyed, she watched him and Severus equally. Severus had not taken his eyes off H. They left him standing there for perhaps five minutes. There was no mirror in the room, but H caught a vague reflection of himself in the black-lacquer surface of a screen.  
  
"Take off your socks, too," Narcissa said suddenly. "You see," she went on, "you shouldn't wear socks like those, you'll ruin your calves." And with the tip of her finger she pointed to the spot just below H's knees where there was in fact a faint mark on his leg. "Who told you to do that?"  
  
Before H had a chance to reply, Severus said, "The boy who gave him to me; you know him, Draco." And he added, "But I'm sure he'll come around to your opinion."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it," said Narcissa. "I'm going to give you some long, dark stockings, H, and a corset to hold them up, one that will be snug at the waist."  
  
When Narcissa rang, a silent young man brought in some very sheer, black stockings and a tight-fitting corset of black nylon taffeta which curved in at the lower belly and above the hips. H, who was still standing, slipped on the stockings that came to the top of his thighs. The young man helped him into the corset. Like the bodices at Hogwarts, this one could be laced up as tightly or as loosely as desired, the laces being at the back. H fastened his stockings to the four garter-belt snaps in front and on the sides, then the boy set about lacing him up as tight as he could.  
  
"He'll be much improved," Narcissa said, speaking to Severus, "with his nipples lifted and his waist nipped in. Now then, H, step over this way."  
  
The young man left. H went over to Narcissa who was sitting in a low chair, a small easy chair upholstered in bright red velvet. Narcissa ran her hand lightly over his buttocks and then, pushing him down on his back on an ottoman beside her, seized his sex, examining it carefully.  
  
H flushed, embarrassed by this scrutiny of his most private parts. He wasn't sure why, after all these months of being subjected to Severus' intense observations, he still had the ability to be embarrassed.  
  
Narcissa had him stand up and put his clothes back on. "You can bring him to me whenever you like," she said to Severus. "I'll be at Malfoy Manor in two days time."  
  
"In ten days, if that suits you," Severus said, "at the beginning of July."  
  
On the solitary walk home, Severus having remained behind at Narcissa's, H wondered how he would explain the stockings and corset to Ron. He supposed he could tell him that it was one of Draco's whims...  
  
Which brought H back to a train of thought he had been trying to avoid whenever it occurred to him: why, ever since Ron had moved in with him, had Draco made an effort to avoid being alone with H? The only times he saw Draco now were on those evenings that he spent with both Ron and H, or the occasional mornings when he dropped by Severus'. There, Draco would greet H affectionately, kiss him and caress his skin, coordinate his plans with Severus for the following day - plans which never included H - and then leave.  
  
July was fast approaching, and Draco would not be coming to visit him at Narcissa's. Had Draco given him to Severus so completely that he had ceased to love him?  
  
The thought threw H into such a state of panic that he turned and headed towards Draco's office, without knowing whether Draco would be there, and if he was, whether he would see him. It was the first time he had gone to Draco's office. Draco had never given him permission to come and disturb him at his office, and it was possible that he was creating a considerable disturbance but so great was his unease that he didn't care.  
  
He was not surprised by the impressive building, located just a short distance from the Ministry, but what did disconcert him was Draco's attitude. Not that Draco was angry or full of reproaches. H thought that he would have preferred reproaches. Instead, Draco was cool towards him, as if he were a stranger, inviting him to sit down without so much as a smile or a chaste kiss. He dismissed his assistant, told her that he did not want to see anyone, and asked her to hold all messages. Then he asked H what was the matter.  
  
"I was afraid you didn't love me any longer," H said.  
  
Draco laughed. "All of a sudden, just like that?"  
  
"Yes, on the walk back from..."  
  
"Coming back from where?"  
  
H remained silent.  
  
Draco laughed again. "But I know where you were, silly. Coming back from Narcissa's. And in ten days you're going to Malfoy Manor. Severus just owled me."  
  
Draco was seated in the only comfortable chair in the office, which was facing the table. H suddenly rose from his chair and threw himself into Draco's arms, burying his face against his chest.  
  
"They can do whatever they want with me, I don't care," he murmured. "But tell me you still love me."  
  
"Of course I love you, darling," Draco said, kissing his forehead. "But I want you to obey me, and I'm afraid you're not doing a very good job of it. Did you tell Ron that you belong to Severus, did you talk to him about Hogwarts?"  
  
H admitted him that he had not and that he was worried. Ron acquiesced to his caresses but didn't initiate anything. And on the day that he should learn that H...  
  
Draco stopped him from completing his sentence, lifted him up and laid him down on the table, and bunched up his robes.  
  
"Ah ha, so you have your corset and stockings," he said. "It's true that you'll be much more attractive like this."  
  
Then Draco took his sex into his mouth, and it seemed to H that it had been so long since he had done that, that in his act he saw proof of love.  
  
"You know," Draco said afterward, when H had given him equal pleasure, "you're foolish not to talk to Ron. We absolutely need him at Hogwarts. The simplest way of getting him there would be through you. Besides, when you come back from Narcissa's there won't be any way of concealing your true condition any longer."  
  
H wanted to know why.  
  
"You'll see," Draco went on. "You still have five days to tell Ron because Severus intends to whip you again, five days before he sends you to Narcissa's, and there will be no way for you to hide the marks. How will you ever explain them to Ron?"  
  
H did not reply. What Draco did not know was that Ron was completely oblivious as far as H was concerned. In fact, H was coming to believe that Ron was solely interested in H because he was interested in Ron. He never looked at H, never truly looked at him. He never returned H's caresses. If H were covered with welts from the floggings, all he would have to do would be to take care not to bathe in Ron's presence and to wear a nightshirt. Ron would never notice a thing. The fact was that H did not interest Ron. H was beginning to suspect that he never would.  
  
"Listen to me," Draco went on, "there's one thing anyway I want you to tell him, and tell him right away, and that is that I'm in love with him."  
  
H felt his world tilt on its axis. "Is that true?" he asked.  
  
Draco shrugged. "I want him," he said, "and since you can't - or won't - do anything about it, I'll take charge of the matter myself and do what has to be done."  
  
"You'll never get him to agree to go to Hogwarts," H said.  
  
"I won't? In that case," Draco retorted, "we'll force him to go."  
  
That night, after Ron had crawled into bed with him and allowed his caresses, H turned to Ron and said, abruptly, "Draco's in love with you, you know."  
  
Ron smiled and kissed him. "I know," he said, then snuggled down into the bed.  
  
And H, who a month before had been horrified at the idea of seeing this body scored by the lash, the pure mouth screaming, and his cheeks streaked with tears, H now repeated to himself Draco's final words, and was happy.  
  
******************************  
  
Harry fell silent. He was settled between his lover's legs in the big bathtub, leaning back against his chest, his head resting against his companion's shoulder. The lightly scented water had soothed most of his aches away.  
  
His lover had been quiet for a long time, and Harry looked up to make sure that he hadn't fallen asleep during his tale. His lover wasn't asleep; he was looking at Harry with an enigmatic look on his face.  
  
"Rather an unhappy turn of events for our young hero," he said quietly.  
  
Harry shrugged, sending ripples through the water. "Could be worse. He could have walked into his lover's office to find him and his best friend shagging like minks on the floor. "  
  
He could feel his lover's wince without looking at him. "Harry..."  
  
Harry scowled. "Don't apologize and don't feel sorry for me. I don't need anyone's pity."  
  
"It's not pity," he said quietly, and kissed the side of Harry's neck. "I just think someone is due a little caressing of his own." With judicious use of magic, he lifted Harry out of the tub, wrapped him in a large towel, and carried him into the bedroom.  
  
End of Part 3  
  



	4. Part Four: Narcissa and the Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H's master sends him to an expert for some advanced training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 WARNINGS: Extreme content. This part contains Sadism/masochism, Dominance/submission, whippings, multiple partners, piercing, branding, and vague allusions to het sex.

Harry lay in bed feeling pleasantly limp and relaxed. After carrying him to bed, his lover had proceeded to massage every inch of his body, front and back, first with his hands and then with his tongue. *Every* inch. Harry had been brought to ecstasy twice and was now sprawled on his stomach, feeling boneless and disinclined to move. Fortunately, his lover appeared to take that as a compliment and was stretched out next to him, idly tracing patterns over Harry's skin.  
  
"Mmm," Harry murmured, having regained enough brain cells to consider speech again. "Feels good." He opened his eyes and noted the pensive look on his lover's face. "You all right?"  
  
His lover nodded. "Merely reflecting on a few things."  
  
"Thinking's bad for you - "  
  
"Which explains your marks in school."  
  
" - when you're in bed with a really hot, sexy guy." His lover snorted. "Shall I tell you more of the story?"  
  
His lover gave him a grave look. "Are you certain that you wish to continue?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Mother hen. I'm fine. Besides, the best parts are yet to come."  
  
"In that case..."  
  
Harry grinned and shifted over so that he was cuddled up against his lover, then began.  
  
********************  
  
 **Part Four - Narcissa and the Rings**  
  
At the end of June, England's Quidditch team left the country for an extended tour leading - hopefully - to the World Cup in Australia and with them went Ron. With Ron gone and not due back until August, H's flat felt strangely empty, particularly as Draco continued to avoid visiting H there. Draco complained about business being hectic, and that he would have to make a trip out of the country. For a moment H hoped that Draco would take him along but, apart from the fact that he never took him on his business trips, there was the business with Narcissa.  
  
Severus announced that he would come for H on the same day Draco left for the continent. "We're going down to Narcissa's," he said, "she's expecting you. Don't bother packing a suitcase, you won't need anything."  
  
H let his staff know that he was taking vacation for the month of July.  
  
Their destination was not the flat in London but a large wooded estate in the country. When they arrived it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the house's occupants appeared to be asleep. Narcissa was napping under a copper beech tree on the edge of the lawn in one corner of the garden. She opened her eyes as one of the house elves escorted them out.  
  
"Here's H," Severus said. "You know what has to be done with him. When will he be ready?"  
  
Narcissa glanced at H and saw the confusion on his face. "You mean you haven't told him?" She sighed. "All right, I'll begin immediately. Allowing ten days for full healing - I imagine you'll want to be here? - come back in two weeks. The whole business should be finished a week after that."  
  
Narcissa turned to H. "Go into the front bedroom over there, get undressed and come back."  
  
The room, a large white bedroom with heavy purple drapes, was empty. H put his robes, stockings and corset on a small chair near the closet door. There was no mirror in the room. He went back outside and, dazzled by the bright sunlight, walked slowly back over to the shade of the beech tree. Severus was still standing in front of Narcissa, his eyes fixed on H.  
  
"H," she said, "kneel down in front of Severus." H obliged, his arms crossed behind his back, his body quivering. "Do you consent to bear the rings and monogram with which Severus desires you to be marked, without knowing how they will be placed upon you?"  
  
"I do," H said.  
  
"All right then, I'm going to walk Severus to the Apparation point. Stay here."  
  
As Narcissa got up from her chaise lounge, Severus bent down, kissed H on the mouth, and murmured, "Are you mine, H, are you really mine?" then turned to follow Narcissa. The gate banged shut behind him.  
  
**  
  
There were two girls and one boy living in the house, all of whom had bedrooms on the second floor. H was given a small bedroom on the ground floor, adjoining Narcissa's. Once Severus had left, Narcissa called for them to come down into the garden. H noticed that they were all wearing, as at Hogwarts, a leather collar and leather bracelets on their wrists. They were also wearing similar bracelets around their ankles. Unlike H who was still naked, all three of them wore semi-sheer draperies attached to their collars and fluttering about their bodies as they walked over and knelt. The only persons in this place who wore clothes were Narcissa and the three house elves, a cook and two maids.  
  
"His name is H," said Narcissa, who had sat down again. "Bring him over to me so I can get a better look at him." The two girls helped H to his feet. They were both brunettes and looked very much alike; the boy was the blond he'd seen in London. The girls pushed H till he was right in front of Narcissa, who pointed to the three black stripes that showed on the front of his thighs and were repeated on his buttocks.  
  
"Who whipped you?" she asked. "Severus?"  
  
"Yes," H said.  
  
"When? And with what?"  
  
"Three days ago, with a riding crop."  
  
"Starting tomorrow, and for a month thereafter, you will not be whipped. But today you will be, to mark your arrival, as soon as I've had a chance to examine you. Has Severus ever whipped you on the inside of your thighs, with your legs spread wide? No? It's true, men don't know how to do that. Well, we'll soon see. Show me your legs. Yes, they're much better."  
  
Narcissa sent one of the girls to fetch H's corset and put it back on him. The other girl laced it up tightly, then Narcissa ordered, "Turn him around for me, girls, so I can see his back."  
  
He was turned around and bent over, and Narcissa critically examined his skin from the base of the corset to the top of his thighs.  
  
"Such lovely skin; it will take a mark quite well. Stand up. We're going to put on your bracelets. Padma, go get the box and we'll draw lots to see who will whip you."  
  
Padma was one of the two dark-haired girls. The other was Parvati, and the blond boy was Blaise. When Parvati had chosen some bracelets that fit H and put them on him, Narcissa handed H four tokens and asked him to give one to each of them, without looking at the numbers on them. H handed out the tokens; the three looked at theirs but said nothing, waiting for Narcissa to speak.  
  
"I have number two," Narcissa said. "Who has number one?"  
  
Padma had number one.  
  
"All right, take H to the music room; he's all yours."  
  
Padma seized H's arms and joined his hands behind his back. She fastened the bracelets together and pushed H ahead of her towards the house. They entered a room off the main house, the far end of which formed a raised rotunda with two narrow columns set about six feet apart. This dais was about four steps high and projected into the room in a gentle arc. In the near end of the room there was a fireplace wider than it was deep, one couch, and a large piano.  
  
While Padma had H sit down on the edge of the platform, the other two shut the French door leading into the garden. H was surprised to note that it was a double door, and Narcissa, said, "That's so no one can hear you scream. And the walls are lined with cork. Don't worry, no one can hear the slightest thing that goes on in here. Now lie down."  
  
She took him by both shoulders and laid him back on the floor of the platform, then pulled him forward until his bottom was almost at the edge of the top step. Parvati attached his constrained arms to a ring set in the floor of the platform. Narcissa made him raise his legs. Straps were fastened to his ankle bracelets and thence to the columns on either side. Thus he lay thus between them on this raised dais exposed in such a way that the only part of him which was visible from the main part of the room was his sex and his buttocks. Blaise brought forth a leather pouch and bound his sex within it, attaching it to his corset and thus pulling his sex away from his thighs.  
  
Narcissa caressed the inside of his thighs. "It's the most tender spot of the whole body," she said. "Not too hard now, Padma. Be careful not to harm it."  
  
Padma was standing over him, astride him at the level of him waist, and in the bridge formed by her legs, H could see the tassels of the whip she was holding in her hand. As the first blows burned into his thighs, H moaned. Padma alternated from left to right, paused, then started again. H struggled with all his might; he thought the straps would tear him limb from limb. He did not want to grovel, he did not want to beg for mercy, and yet that was precisely what Narcissa seemed intent to wring from his lips.  
  
"Faster," she said to Padma, "and harder."  
  
H braced himself, but it was no use. A minute later he could bear it no more. He screamed while Narcissa caressed his face.  
  
"Just a little longer," she said, "and it will be over. Only five more minutes. It's twenty-five past, Padma. Stop when it's half past, when I tell you to."  
  
But H was screaming, "No, no, for God's sake don't!" screaming that he couldn't bear it, no, he couldn't bear the torture another second. And yet he endured it to the bitter end, and after Padma had left the little stage, Narcissa smiled at him.  
  
"Thank me," she said to H, and H thanked her.  
  
He thought he knew why Narcissa had wanted, above all else, to have him whipped. That the female of the species was as cruel as, and more implacable than, the male, H had never doubted for a minute. But H suspected that Narcissa was less interested in making a spectacle of her power than she was in establishing between H and herself a sense of complicity. H had never really understood it, but he had finally come to accept as an undeniable and important truth, this constant and contradictory jumble of his emotions. He liked the idea of torture, but when he was being tortured himself he would have betrayed the whole world to escape it, and yet when it was over he was happy to have gone through it, happier still if it had been especially cruel and prolonged. Narcissa had been correct in her assumptions both as to H's acquiescence and as to his revolt, and knew that his pleas for mercy were genuine as well.  
  
There was still a third reason for what she had done, which she explained to H. She was bent on proving to every slave who came into her house that his or her condition as a slave should not be minimized or denigrated, but that, on the contrary, it should be heightened and intensified. The way in which H was flogged, as well as the position in which he was bound, had no other purpose. Today it was H who would remain for the rest of the afternoon - for two more hours - exposed on the dais, his legs raised and spread. Tomorrow it would be Parvati, or Padma, or Blaise, whom H would contemplate in turn.  
  
It was a technique much too slow and meticulous to be used at Hogwarts. But H could see how effective it was. Apart from the rings and the letters he would wear when he left, he would be returned to Severus more open, and more profoundly enslaved, than he had ever before thought possible.  
  
**  
  
The following morning after breakfast, Narcissa told H and Blaise to follow her into the bedroom. From her writing desk she took a green leather coffer, which she set on the bed and proceeded to open. Both boys knelt on the floor.  
  
"Has Blaise said anything to you about this?" Narcissa asked H. H shook his head. What was there for Blaise to tell him? "And I know Severus didn't either. No matter. Here are the rings he wants you to wear."  
  
There were two rings were of stainless steel, unburnished, the same dull finish as the gold-plated iron ring he wore on his hand. One was smaller than the other, and both were curved like a horseshoe with a flat metal disk between the two ends.  
  
"This is the temporary ring," she said, "which can be removed after the piercing has healed. The permanent model, you see, locks in place and cannot be removed, except by filing."  
  
Narcissa touched the little disk. "On one side will be your name and Severus'. On the other, a design composed of a crossed whip and riding crop. Blaise is wearing a disk just like it. Yours will be worn in your left nipple and your sex."  
  
H looked at her in surprise. "But how?"  
  
"That is why I brought Blaise along. Show yours, Blaise."  
  
The blond boy rose and removed his draperies, and now H could see that an iron ring similar to the one he was holding pierced the head of his sex.  
  
"It is called a dressing ring," Narcissa said. "It goes through the eye of your sex and comes out on the underside behind the glans. The other will go through your nipple. In a moment I'll pierce you, H," Narcissa said. H blanched and she smiled and patted him reassuringly. "It's nothing really. It's much easier to bear than the whip. Afterwards, I'll give you a potion to speed the healing. In two weeks, when Severus returns, we'll remove the temporary rings and insert the permanent ones."  
  
She then had Blaise bind H to the lounge chair in the corner, restraining his hands and feet. H closed his eyes, unwilling to watch as his flesh was pierced. A sharp, stinging pain like a fire blazed through his left nipple, and he cried out. Blaise soothed him, pressing kisses along his forehead and eyes, praising him for remaining so still, and H revived enough to return the kiss pressed to his lips. He looked down at his chest; the sight of metal gleaming there made him feel faint and he closed his eyes again.  
  
He felt something slide into the slit on his sex and, stung by curiosity, opened his eyes to see Narcissa sliding a thin tube inside. She picked up a long needle and he shut his eyes tight again, not wanting to see. The prick of pain was remarkably brief, however, and it was with relief that he felt the tube being removed. Cloth was being wrapped around his sex and he cautiously looked down.  
  
"You may bleed a little for the next few hours," Narcissa said. She handed Blaise a small vial. "Drink this; it will speed the healing."  
  
H obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the healing draught, then Blaise kissed him again and released his bonds. He helped H get to his feet, then picked up a set of draperies like his own and attached them to the ring on H's collar.  
  
"You are not to touch your sex for pleasure until I have given you permission," Narcissa said. "Nor is anyone else to touch you. Is that understood?" H nodded and Narcissa turned to Blaise. "Take H to his room; he is to nap until luncheon."  
  
H felt remarkably better after his nap, and by the next day there was no longer any soreness from either piercing. Still, he could not get used to the sight of them when he caught a glimpse of his reflection, nor at the weight of them on his body. As all of them lay resting in the garden after luncheon the next afternoon, H looked down at the rings adorning his body, thinking that they would be immediately and glaringly apparent to the most casual glance.  
  
"Of course they will," Narcissa said, when H pointed this out to her. "But aren't you by now fully aware of what Severus wants? Anyone at Hogwarts, anyone anywhere else, who lifts your robes will immediately see his rings on your sex and chest, and if you turn around, his monogram on your buttocks. You may possibly file the rings off one day, but the mark on your backside will never come off."  
  
"I thought it was possible to have tattoos removed," Padma said. It was she who had tattooed, on Parvati's skin just above the triangle of dark hair, the initials of her master in ornate blue letters, like the letters you find on embroidery.  
  
"H will not be tattooed," replied Narcissa.  
  
H looked at Narcissa. Padma and Blaise were stunned, and said nothing. Narcissa smiled, a cool smile that did not reach her eyes.  
  
"What is it?" H asked.  
  
"You're to be branded." She touched the base of H's spine, between the swell of his buttocks. "Right there. Severus sent me the branding iron two days ago."  
  
"Branded?" Parvati cried. "With a red-hot branding iron?"  
  
Narcissa nodded.  
  
For the first time that he could remember, H fainted.  
  
**  
  
From the first day, H shared in the life of the house. Idleness, absolute and deliberate idleness was the order of the day, interspersed with occasional distractions. They were at liberty to walk in the garden, to read, draw, play cards, play solitaire. They could sleep in their rooms or sunbathe on the lawn. Sometimes they would talk together for hours on end, and sometimes they would sit at Narcissa's feet without uttering a word. Mealtimes were always the same: dinner was by candlelight, tea was served in the garden, and there was something absurd about the matter-of-fact way in which the two house elves served these semi-naked slaves seated around a festive table.  
  
In the evening, Narcissa would designate one of them to sleep with her, sometimes the same one several nights in succession. She caressed her chosen partner and was by him or her caressed, generally until dawn, and then she would immediately fall asleep, after having sent her partner back to his or her own room. Blaise used to say that Narcissa was as beautiful and haughty in receiving pleasure as she was unstinting in her demands. None of them had ever seen her naked. She would pull up or open slightly her white nightgown, but would not take it off.  
  
Neither the pleasure she may have tasted the previous night before nor her choice of partner the previous evening had the least influence on her decision the following afternoon, which was always determined by a drawing. At three in the afternoon, beneath the copper beech where the garden chairs were grouped about a round, white-marble table, Narcissa would bring out the token box. Each except H would take a token. Whoever drew the lowest number was then stripped of their draperies, taken to the music room, and tied between the two columns on the dais. This slave then had to point to Narcissa's right or left hand, in each of which she was holding a white or black ball. If black, the victim was flogged; white, he or she had a reprieve.  
  
Narcissa never resorted to chicanery, even if chance condemned or spared the same person several days in a row. Thus the torture of Blaise, who sobbed and cried out for his lover, was repeated four days running. The spectacle was all the more striking because Blaise was completely shaved.  
  
"But why?" H wanted to know.  
  
Blaise shrugged and smiled. "He says I'm more naked when I'm shaved. "  
  
Something about Blaise's face reminded H of Ron every time he looked at him. What if Ron were to go to Hogwarts? Sooner or later, Ron would end up here, would here be strapped to the columns on this platform.  
  
"I won't," H would say, "I don't want to and I won't lift a finger to get him there. As it is, I've already said too much. Ron's not the sort to be flogged and marked."  
  
But how admirably suited to blows and irons was Blaise, how lovely it was to hear his moans and sighs, how lovely, too, to witness his body soaked with perspiration, and what a pleasure to wrest the moans and the sweat from him. For on two occasions Narcissa had handed H the thonged whip - both times the victim had been Blaise - and told him to use it.  
  
The first time, for the first minute, he had hesitated, and at Blaise's first scream, H had recoiled and cringed, but as soon as he had started in again and Blaise's cries had echoed anew, he had been overwhelmed with a terrible feeling of pleasure, a feeling so intense that he had caught himself laughing in spite of himself, and he had found it almost impossible to restrain herself from striking Blaise as hard as he could.  
  
Afterward he had remained next to Blaise throughout the entire period of time he was kept tied up, embracing him from time to time.  
  
**  
  
Scarcely had H's piercings begun healing than Narcissa remarked, "How I regret not to be able to whip you! When you come back... But let's say no more about it. In any event, I'm going to open you every day."  
  
And so daily, when the one who was in the music room had been untied, H would replace him or her until the bell rang for dinner. And Narcissa was right: it was true that during those two hours all he could think of was the fact that he was opened, and of the rings, hanging heavily from his sex and nipple. He could think of nothing save his enslaved condition, and of the marks that went with it.  
  
One evening, Padma had come in with Parvati from the garden, and they came over to H and examined his rings.  
  
"When you went to Hogwarts," Padma said, "was it Narcissa who brought you there?"  
  
"No," H said.  
  
"It was Narcissa who brought me, two years ago. I'm going back there day after tomorrow."  
  
"But don't you belong to anyone?" H asked.  
  
"Padma belongs to me," said Narcissa, appearing from nowhere. "Your master's arriving tomorrow, H. Tonight you'll sleep with me."  
  
**  
  
The short summer night waxed slowly brighter until, toward four o'clock, daylight drowned the last stars. H was awakened by Narcissa's hands probing between his thighs.  
  
But all Narcissa wanted was to awaken H, to have H caress her. Her eyes were shining in the half-light, and her blond hair was pushed up behind her on the pillow. Narcissa was quick to yield - but not to H. The pleasure to which she opened her eyes wide, staring at the growing daylight, was an anonymous, impersonal pleasure of which H was merely the instrument. It made no difference whatever to Narcissa that H admired her face, smooth and glowing with renewed youth, her lovely panting lips, nor did she care whether H heard her moan. She merely seized H by the hair to press him more closely to her, and only let him go in order to say, "Again, do it again."  
  
He did not possess Narcissa. No one possessed Narcissa. Narcissa demanded caresses without worrying about what the person providing them might feel, and she surrendered herself with an arrogant liberty. Yet she was all kindness and gentleness with H, kissed him on the mouth, and held him close for an hour before sending him back to his own room.  
  
Before sending him off, she ran her hand softly and at great length over H's rear, then took him into the room where she, Narcissa, dressed, the only room in the house where there was a three-sided mirror. She opened the mirror so that H could see himself.  
  
"This is the last time you'll see yourself intact," she said, removing the temporary rings piercing his body, then stroking his backside again. "Here, on this smooth rounded area between your cheeks is where Severus' initials will be branded. The day before you leave I'll bring you back here for another look. You won't recognize yourself. Now go and get some sleep, H."  
  
But H was too worried and upset to sleep, and when at ten the next morning Blaise came to fetch him, H was trembling so that Blaise had to help him bathe, brush his hair, and put on his corset. He had heard the garden gate open; Severus was there.  
  
"Come along now, H," Blaise said. "He's waiting for you."  
  
The sun was already high in the sky and not a breath of air was stirring in the leaves of the beech tree. Severus was standing, motionless, beside the white table under the tree, Narcissa seated beside him.  
  
"Here he is," said Narcissa, when Blaise had brought H before them. "The rings can be put on whenever you like, he's been pierced."  
  
Without replying, Severus took H in his arms, kissed him on the mouth and, lifting him completely off his feet, lay him down on the table and bent over him. He kissed H again, caressed his scar and his hair and, straightening up, said to Narcissa, "Right now, if it's all right with you."  
  
Narcissa took the leather coffer which she had brought out with her, set it down on a chair, and handed Severus the rings, which were unhooked and on which were inscribed the names of H and Severus Snape.  
  
Blaise spread H's knees, and H felt the cold metal as Severus slipped the lower ring into place. As he was slipping the second half of the ring into the first, Severus was careful to see that the side inlaid with the picture was facing out and the side which bore the inscription faced inward. Narcissa repeated the procedure with the ring piercing his nipple while Severus looked on in silence. When it was over, he thanked Narcissa and helped H to his feet. It was then H realized that these new rings were heavier than the ones he had been wearing temporarily for the past two weeks. And these were permanent.  
  
"And now your monogram, right?" Narcissa said to Severus. Severus nodded assent and lifted H into his arms, carrying him into the music room.  
  
Padma and Parvati were seated at the foot of the stage. When the others came in, they both got to their feet. On the stage was a big, round single-burner stove and H could see the branding iron resting in it. Narcissa took the straps from the closet and had them tie H tightly around the waist and knees, his belly hard against one of the columns. They also bound his hands and feet. Consumed by fear and terror, H felt one of Narcissa's hands on his buttocks, indicating the exact spot for the iron. He heard the hiss of a flame and, in total silence, heard the windows being closed. Lips brushed against his cheek. He could have turned his head and looked, but he did not have the strength to.  
  
He never knew who had seared the flesh of his buttocks with the hot iron, nor whose voice had counted slowly up to three, nor whose hand had given the signal to withdraw the iron. One single, frightful, unbearable stab of pain had coursed through his body, obliterating his awareness of anything else. He went rigid in the bonds and a scream was wrenched from his lips.  
  
When they unfastened him, he collapsed into Narcissa's arms and had time, before everything turned black around him and he completely lost consciousness, to catch a glimpse of Severus's ghastly pale face.  
  
**  
  
A week later, Severus took H back to London. The rings attached to his left nipple and his sex, proclaiming in bold letters that he was Severus's personal property, rubbed against his robes and made him acutely aware of his enslavement. The marks burned into his flesh by the branding iron, about two inches in height and half that in width, their healing hastened by potions and salves, were pale against the paler skin of his back.  
  
From these rings and these marks, H derived a feeling of inordinate pride. Had Ron been there, instead of trying to conceal from him the fact that he bore them, as he had tried to hide the traces of the welts raised by the riding crop which Severus had wielded during those last days before his departure, he would have gone running in search of Ron, to show them to him. But Ron was not due back for another two weeks.  
  
Draco wasn't there, either, and his office didn't know when he'd be back.  
  
During those two weeks, H had several summer robes made and a number of evening robes of a very light material. Snape allowed him only two models but let him order variations on both: one with buttons all the way down the front, the other a full robe, easy to lift. Bathing suits, of course, were out of the question; Severus had told him that this summer he would have to swim naked whenever he went swimming.  
  
Alone together in London, strolling through the streets to window shop or walking along the river where the paving stones were dusty because the weather had been so dry, they evinced no surprise at seeing the passers-by smile at them, the way people smile at people who are happy. Once in a while, Severus would push him into the recess of a porte-cochere, or beneath the archway of a building, and he would kiss H and tell him he loved him.  
  
Once Severus suddenly steered H into a wretched brothel-like hotel, where the desk clerk first wanted them to fill out the forms, but then said not to bother if it was only for an hour. The wallpaper in the room was blue with enormous golden peonies, the window looked out onto a pit whence rose the odor of garbage cans. However weak the light bulb at the head of the bed, H could still see streaks of face powder and forgotten hairpins on the mantelpiece. On the ceiling above the bed was a large mirror.  
  
H rather liked that mirror.  
  
Once, but only once, Severus invited H to lunch with two of his associates. He came to the flat for H an hour before he was ready. H had finished bathing, but he had not dried his hair or put on his make-up, and was not dressed. To his surprise, he saw that Severus was carrying a golf bag, though he saw no clubs in it.  
  
Severus told him to open the bag. Inside were several leather riding crops, two fairly thick ones of red leather, two that were long and thin of black leather, a scourge with long lashes of green leather, a dog's whip made of a thick single lash whose handle was of braided leather and leather bracelets of the sort used at Hogwarts. H laid them out side by side on the unmade bed. No matter how accustomed he became to seeing them, no matter what resolutions he made about them, he could not keep from trembling.  
  
Severus took him in his arms. "Which do you prefer, H?" he asked. But he could barely speak, and already could feel the sweat running down his arms. "Which do you prefer?" he repeated. "All right," he said confronted by H's silence, "I'll choose. First you're going to help me."  
  
He asked for some nails, and found a way to arrange them in a decorative manner, whips and riding crops crossed, opposite H's bed. There were rings on the ends of the handles of the whips and riding crops, by which they could be suspended from the nails, a system which allowed each whip to be easily taken down and returned to its place on the wall. Thus H would have, opposite his bed, the complete array of his instruments of torture. It was a handsome panoply, as harmonious as the wheel and spikes in the painting of Saint Catherine, the martyr. When Ron came back...  
  
Severus chose the dog whip himself.  
  
**  
  
In a tiny private dining room of the restaurant, H was ensconced alone on the sofa, with one of Severus' friends in an armchair to his right, another to his left, and Severus across from him. He remembered already having seen one of the men at Hogwarts, but could not recall having been taken by him. The other was a tall red-haired boy who could not have been more than twenty-seven. With few words, Severus told them why he had invited H and what he was. Listening to him, H was once again astonished at the coarseness of his language. But then, how did he expect to be referred to, if not as a whore, a boy who, in the presence of men (not to mention the restaurant waiters who kept trooping in and out, since luncheon was being served) would open his robes to bare his nipples, the tips of which had been reddened with lipstick as they could see, as they could also see from the purple furrows across his milk-white skin that he had been flogged?  
  
The meal went on for a long time and the two men drank a great deal. Over coffee, when the liqueurs had been served, Severus pushed the table back against the opposite wall and lifted H's robes to show his friends how he was branded and in irons.  
  
The man he had met at Hogwarts wasted no time. Without leaving his armchair, without even touching him with his fingertips, he ordered H to kneel down in front him, take him and caress his sex until he discharged in his mouth. After which, he made H straighten out his clothing and left.  
  
H looked around and realized that Severus had left as well.  
  
The red-haired lad, who had been completely overwhelmed by H's submissiveness, by his irons and the welts that he had glimpsed on his body, took him by the hand and led him back to his hotel room. Totally intoxicated by the sudden freedom granted him to use H in whatever fashion he desired, he plowed him unmercifully and then took his mouth, something he had never before dared ask of anyone. H thought him rather sweet with his innocent earnestness, although rough in his passionate ignorance. He did not let H go till nightfall  
  
The following day, when H arrived at Severus' at two o'clock in answer to his summons, he found him looking older and his face careworn.  
  
"Percy has fallen head over heels in love with you, H," he told him. "This morning he called on me and begged me to grant you your freedom. He told me he wants to marry you. He wants to save you. You see how I treat you if you're mine, H, and if you are mine you have no right to refuse my commands. But you also know that you are always free to choose *not* to be mine. I told him so. He's coming back here at three."  
  
H burst out laughing. "Isn't that a little late?" he said. "You're both quite mad. If Percy had not come by this morning, what would you have done with me this afternoon? We would have gone for a walk -then let's go for a walk. Or perhaps you would not have summoned me this afternoon? In that case I'll leave...."  
  
"No," Severus broke in, "I would have called you, but not to go for a walk. I wanted..."  
  
"Go on, say it."  
  
"Come, it will be simpler to show you."  
  
He got up and opened a door in the wall opposite to the fireplace, a door identical to the one in his lab. H had always thought that the door led into a closet that was no longer used. Instead, he saw a tiny bedroom, newly painted, and hung with dark red silk. Half of the room was occupied by a rounded stage flanked by two columns, identical to the stage in the music room at Malfoy.  
  
"The walls and ceiling are lined with cork, are they not?" H said. "And the door is padded, and you've had a double window installed?"  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"But since when has all this been done?" H said.  
  
"Since you've been back."  
  
"Then why?..."  
  
"Why did I wait until today? Because I first wanted to hand you over to other men. And now I shall punish you for it."  
  
"I belong to you," H replied. "Punish me. And when Percy comes, he shall see..."  
  
An hour later, when Percy was shown a grotesquely bound and spread-eagled H strapped to the two columns, the boy blanched, mumbled something, and disappeared. H knew he would never see him again.  
  
**************************  
  
Harry lifted his head from his lover's shoulder, once again looking to see his reaction. His lover reached down to trace one of Harry's nipples with a fingertip. "They are remarkably pretty and would look delicious with ornamentation."  
  
Harry shivered and turned his face into his lover's neck, nuzzling and nipping there. He wanted to ask if his lover would be as possessive of him as the fictional lover of H, but didn't feel he had the right. Neither had been the other's first partner - or first love, for that matter - and nothing had been said between them about the long term.  
  
"A bell," his lover said decisively, "so I could hear you coming, even with that damned cloak."  
  
Harry chuckled, his momentary melancholy dispelled. "You've never before complained about the noise I make while coming."  
  
"Hush," his lover said, possessing his mouth, leaving Harry with no inclination to say more.  
  
End of Part Four  
  


 


	5. Part Five: The Owl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H's master displays him for others, and H has a revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 WARNINGS: Extreme content. This part contains Sadism/masochism, Dominance/submission, whippings, multiple partners, voyeurism

Harry lay stretched out on the couch, languidly enjoying the warmth cushioning his body. It was Saturday night, and he and his lover were enjoyed some well-deserved rest. Not only had it been the usual long, hectic week, but the mini-sex-fest they'd been enjoying over the past few days had worn both of them out, and it was nice to just relax together.

Harry shifted a little and his cushion grunted. "If you persist in placing your knees in my groin, this weekend will be considerably less enjoyable than usual."

Harry snorted. "As if either of us could get it up to save our lives."

"What, no stamina, Potter?" Harry silenced his lover with a kiss. "The least you can do is tell me a story while you're pretending that I'm a piece of furniture. Make it worth my while."

"Pervy bastard," Harry teased. "You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

"Isn't that calling the kettle black? Considering that these are your fantasies."

Harry pressed a kiss against the chest under him, grateful that his lover hadn't taken offence at either his fantasies or the players in them. He didn't think that most men would be so understanding about their lover fantasizing about other men, much less the rather kinky nature of those fantasies. He rested his cheek against his lover's warm chest and started on the final chapter of his story.

*********************************

**Part Five - The Owl**

What H failed to understand now was why he had ever been hesitant to speak to Ron about what Draco rightly called his true condition. Narcissa had told him that he would be changed when he left Malfoy, but H had never imagined that the change would be so great.

When Ron came back, friendlier and more radiant than ever, it seemed natural to H to be no more reticent about revealing himself when he bathed or dressed than when he was alone. And yet it was not until the second day after Ron arrived back and by chance came into the bathroom just as H was stepping out of the tub, that Ron noticed. He turned his head and saw both the nipple and dressing rings and the black stripes crisscrossing H's thighs and chest.

"What in the world happened to you?" he asked.

"It's Severus," H replied. And he added, as thought it were something to be taken completely for granted, "Draco gave me to him, and he's had me pierced with his rings. Look." And as he dried himself with the bath towel he came over to Ron, who was so staggered he had slumped onto the bathroom stool, close enough so that Ron could take the disk hanging from his nipple in one hand and read the inscription. Then H turned around and pointed to the initials 'S S' engraved on his buttocks and said, "He also had me branded with his monogram. As for the rest, that's where I was flogged with a riding crop. He generally whips me himself, but he also has a house elf whip me."

Dumbfounded, Ron gazed at H. H burst out laughing and made as though to kiss him. Terror-stricken, Ron pushed him away and fled into his own room. H leisurely finished drying himself, oiled his body, and combed his hair. He put on his corset, stockings, and slippers, and when he opened the bathroom door he encountered Ron standing there looking as if he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing.

"Lace up my corset, will you?" he said.

"Bloody hell!" Ron said. "You wear - it's bloody perverted, that!"

"Mmm," H said, running his hands over the black satin that Severus preferred to see him wear. "But it feels wickedly wonderful." He laughed at the look on Ron's face. "You really do look astonished. Draco's in love with you; didn't he say anything about this?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "You look as though you were proud of it. I don't understand you."

"You will, after Draco takes you to Hogwarts." H gave him a side look, noting a faded mark on his throat that looked very familiar. He was surprised by the sharp pang he felt; he was even more surprised that he felt more betrayed that they had not confided in him than by their infidelity. "By the way, have you already slept with him?"

Ron's face turned a bright crimson, and he was shaking his head in denial with such little conviction that once again H burst out laughing, despite his pain.

"Don't be so silly. I thought he'd followed you to Australia. You have every right in the world to sleep with him." Determinedly, H pushed away his hurt, remembering his wish to share with Ron what he had experienced. "And I might add that that's no reason to reject me. Come to bed with me and I'll tell you all about Hogwarts."

Had Ron been afraid that H's jealousy would explode in his face and yielded to him out of relief when it did not, or was it curiosity, did he want to hear the promised explanations? Or was it merely because he loved the patience, the slowness, the passion of H's caresses? In any event, yield he did.

"Tell me about it," he said to H as they were resting after Ron's pleasure had been sated.

"All right," H said. "But first kiss my nipples. It's time you got used to it, if you're ever to be of any use to Draco."

Ron did as he was bade, so well in fact that he wrested a moan from H.

"Tell me about it," he said again.

H's tale, however faithful and clear it may have been, seemed completely mad to Ron. "You mean you're going back again?" he said, appalled.

"After we've come back from holiday," H said. "I'll take you, or Draco will."

Ron looked hesitant, unsure. "To see what it's like. I wouldn't mind that, but only to see what it's like."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," said H, though he was convinced of the contrary. But, he kept telling himself, if he could only persuade Ron to enter the gates at Hogwarts, Severus would be grateful to him - and once he was in, there would be enough prefects, chains, and whips to teach Ron to obey.

And Severus would see Ron surrender to him as well. He already knew Severus had rented a summer house near Brighton, where they were scheduled to spend the rest of the month of August with Draco, Ron, and Neville, Ron's friend and old school-mate, who he'd asked if he could bring along. H knew that his room, to which he was certain he could entice Ron, was separated from Severus' bedroom by a wall that looked as though it was full but actually was not. The wall was decorated with a trompe l'oeil screen which enabled Severus to raise a blind on his side and thus to see and hear as well as if he had been standing beside the bed. Ron would be surrendering to Severus' gaze while H was caressing him, and by the time he found out it would be too late.

H was pleased to think that he could deliver Ron by an act of betrayal, because he had felt insulted at seeing Ron's contempt for his condition as a flogged and branded slave, a condition of which H was proud. And he was hurt by the way Ron and Draco had deceived him, pretending they were not together while H was at Malfoy manor. He had been honest with them and they had not been honest in kind. It would serve Ron right to be tricked like that.

**

H had never been to Brighton before; he'd hardly been anywhere on holiday. The blue sky and sea were beautiful but too vast and frightening for his tastes. He much preferred the enclosed gardens of the house Severus had rented, where he felt safe and protected. To left and right, high walls protected them from the neighbors. The servants' rooms faced the entrance courtyard, while the side of the house overlooking the garden faced east. H's bedroom was on this side and opened directly onto a second story terrace where H liked to sunbathe.

Neville had been given a room near H's, and in the morning when he knew that H was on the terrace, he would come out and lay down beside him. He had chanced upon H one day when he had dashed out onto the terrace expecting to find Ron but found H instead, lying there alone, and had seen the rings and the marks. But what had shocked Ron filled Neville with envy and desire. He asked Ron about them, and Ron's replies, which were intended to shock and revolt young Neville, in no wise altered Neville's feelings. If anything, it accomplished the contrary.

He had fallen in love with H.

The weather had been warmer than normal. Draco, who had spent part of the morning swimming, was asleep on the sofa of a cool room on the ground floor. Nettled at seeing that he should prefer to take a nap alone, Ron had gone upstairs and joined H in his room. The sea and sun had made him more golden than before: his hair, eyebrows, eyelashes seemed to be afire. H thought he had never looked more splendid, and was delighted that Severus would be able to witness him in his perfection.

To make sure that Severus could see Ron in detail - and H thought that if he were Ron he would have guessed, or noticed, his invisible presence - H took pains to pull back Ron's legs and keep them spread in the light of the bedside lamp. The shutters were closed to keep out the heat and the room was almost dark, despite the thin rays of light that spilled in where the wood was not snug. For more than an hour Ron moaned to H's caresses, and finally, his body fully aroused, his arms thrown back behind his head while his hands circled the wooden bars of the headboard of H's bed, he began to cry out and convulse with pleasure.

H looked up. He could have sworn that he saw Severus' eyes through the screen, and then he was gone. He sent Ron back to his room to sleep, washed, and went out on his private terrace to sunbathe.

In the late afternoon, Draco would take Ron and Neville sailing. A slight wind usually came up at the end of the afternoon, and Draco loved to show off his sailing skills for his appreciative audience of two. This afternoon, however, Neville was not to be found. He was not in his room, nor was he anywhere in the house. They went out to the garden and called him.

"Maybe he's already down at the inlet," Draco said, "or in the boat."

They left without calling him any more.

It was at that point that H glanced through the terrace banisters and saw Neville running toward the house. He got up, put on his dressing gown, and was tying his belt when Neville erupted into the room like one of the Furies and threw himself at H.

"He's gone," he shouted, "he's finally gone. I heard him, I heard you both; I was listening behind the door. You kiss him, you caress him. Why don't you caress me, why don't you kiss me? Is it because I'm small, because I'm not pretty? He doesn't love you, but I do, I love you!"

And he broke down and began to sob.

"All right, fine," H said to himself. He eased Neville into an armchair, took a large handkerchief from his bureau (it was one of Severus'), and when Neville's sobs had subsided a little, wiped away his tears away. Neville begged his forgiveness, kissing H's hands.

"Even if you don't want to kiss me, keep me with you. Keep me with you always. If you had a dog, you'd keep him and take care of him. And if you don't want to kiss me but would enjoy beating me, you can beat me. But don't send me away."

"Keep still, Neville, you don't know what you're saying," H murmured, almost in a whisper.

The boy, slipping down and hugging H's knees, replied in a low voice as well. "Oh, yes, I do. I saw you the other morning on the terrace. I saw the initials, I saw the long black-and-blue marks. And Ron has told me..."

"Told you what?" H asked sharply.

"Where you've been and what they did to you there."

H frowned. "Did he talk to you about Hogwarts?"

Neville nodded. "He told me that you had been, that you are..."

"That I was what?"

"That you wear iron rings."

"That's right," H said, "and what else?"

"That Professor Snape whips you every day."

"That's correct," H repeated, "and he'll be here any second. So run along, Neville."

Neville, without shifting position, raised his head and H's eyes encountered his adoring gaze.

"Teach me, please teach me," he started in again, "I want to be like you. I'll do anything you tell me. Promise me you'll take me with you when you go back to that place Ron told me about."

H shook his head. "You're too young."

"No, I'm not too young," he cried out angrily. "I'm not too young. Ask Professor Snape," he said, for he had just entered the room.

When appealed to, Severus granted Neville permission to remain with H and promised that he would be taken to Hogwarts. But Severus forbade H to teach him the least caress, not even a kiss on the lips, and also gave strict instructions that H was not to allow Neville to kiss him. He had every intention of having Neville reach Hogwarts completely untouched by hands or lips. By way of compensation, what he did demand was that Neville not leave H for a single moment, that he witness H caressing both Ron and himself, that he be present when H yielded to him and when he whipped him, or when he was flogged by Nora.

Neville agreed. He watched each time that H, tied to the wooden balustrade, writhed beneath the riding crop, saw H on his knees humbly receiving Severus' massive upright sex in his mouth, saw him, prostrate, spread his own buttocks with both hands to offer him the back passage - he witnessed all these things with no other feelings but those of admiration, envy, and impatience.

It was about this same time that a change took place in Ron and Draco's relationship. H thought that perhaps they'd quarreled, or that Draco had pressed too hard for Ron to go to Hogwarts. Or perhaps it was that Ron was jealous of the favour that Neville now stood in with H and Snape.

Whatever the cause, he suddenly ceased coming to H's bed. At the same time, he seemed to be keeping himself aloof from Draco during the day although he most certainly spent every night with him. His eyes when he looked at Draco were not the eyes of a man in love, but rather one assessing an item to determine whether it is of use anymore. He never spoke to H but to mock or ridicule him, and yet he jealously guarded his place at H's side.

Draco, on the other hand, was clearly head over heels in love with Ron. He was paralysed by a love such as he had never known before, a worrisome, uncertain love, one he was far from sure was requited, a love that acts not for fear of offending. Draco lived and slept in the same house as Severus, the same house as H, he dined with them, he went on walks with Severus, he conversed with them both, but he didn't see them, he didn't hear what they said. He talked through them, beyond them, and as in a dream when one tries to catch a departing train or clings desperately to the parapet of a collapsing bridge, he was forever trying to understand Ron's words and actions.

"Well," thought H, "the day I was so afraid would arrive is here, the day when I'd merely be a shadow in Draco's past. And I'm not even sad. The only thing I feel for him is pity, and even knowing he doesn't desire me any longer, I can see him every day without any trace of bitterness, without the least regret, without even feeling hurt. And yet only a few weeks ago, I dashed all the way across town to his office, to beg him to tell me he still loved me, and I felt bitter hurt at his words of love for Ron.

"Was that all my love was, all it meant? So light, so easily gone and forgotten? Is solace that simple? And solace is not even the right word: I'm happy. Was it enough for him to have given me to Severus for me to be detached from him, for me to find a new love so easily in the arms of another?"

But then, what was Draco compared to Severus? Ropes of straw, anchors of cork, paper chains: these were the symbols of the bonds with which he had held H, and which he had been so quick to sever. But what a delight and comfort, this iron ring which pierces the flesh and weighs one down forever, this mark eternal, how peaceful and reassuring the hand of a master who lays you on a bed of rock, the love of a master who knows how to take what he loves ruthlessly, without pity. And H said to himself that, in the final analysis, with Draco he had been an apprentice to love, he had loved him only to learn how to give himself, enslaved and surfeited, to Severus.

But to see Draco, who had been so free with him - and he had loved his free ways - walking as though he were hobbled, like someone whose legs were ensnarled in the water and reeds of a pond whose surface seems calm but which, deeper down, swirls with subterranean currents, to see him thus, filled H with hate for Ron.

Did Ron dimly perceive his feelings? Did H carelessly reveal how he felt? In any case, H committed an error, one that had grave consequences.

One afternoon, he and Ron had gone down the shops and then to a caf for an ice cream on the terrace, without any of the others. Ron looked superb in tight-fitting black slacks and a sheer black shirt, eclipsing even the brilliance of the children around him, so hard and bright in the burning sun, so insolent and inaccessible. While they were there, Ron told H he had made an appointment with the Director of the International Quidditch League, to arrange an interview for the position as head of publicity, that he would be moving out of their flat and leaving London.

"Does Draco know?" H asked. Perhaps this was the reason that Draco had been walking around in a fog for the past week. Perhaps he was uncertain how to tell Severus and H that he was leaving London.

Ron shrugged. "What has Draco to do with anything?"

H looked at him in surprise. "Draco loves you. And you love him."

Ron laughed. He threw back his head and laughed, and as he did, he caught the attention of a passing young man. The man stopped, smiled at Ron, took a seat at their table and started talking to them. They were here on holiday? Then they must be sure to see all the sights. He, himself, would show them around so that they didn't miss anything. Ron listened to him, his eyes lowered, but H could see that he was watching the other man through his lashes with a trace of a smile on his face. H leaned forward and caught Ron's eyes, and that was all he needed to see that Ron was aware that H knew that Ron was been - had been - unfaithful to Draco. It didn't bother Ron, though; it was rather H who blushed.

"Are you too warm?" Ron said. "We'll leave in five minutes. Red is becoming to you, by the way."

Then he smiled again, turning his gaze to the other man, a smile so warm that it seemed impossible he would not embrace Ron. But he did not. He allowed Ron to get up, promised to meet him at the caf the next day, and said goodbye. He also said goodbye to H, but absently as one would to a shadow, and watched them walk away.

"You really like him all that much?" H said to Ron as they walked down the road to where they could safely Apparate back to the house.

"Is that any business of yours?" Ron responded.

"It's Draco's business," he retorted.

"What is Draco's business, and Severus', and, if I understand it correctly, a vast number of other people's, is the fact that you were badly seated today," Ron retorted. "You've wrinkled your robes. And I also thought that you weren't supposed to cross your legs."

But H was no longer listening. What did he care about Ron's threats? If Ron threatened to inform on him for that peccadillo, what did he think would keep him from denouncing Ron in turn to Draco? Not that H lacked the desire to. After Ron's taunts of the past week, he would have liked to sting him back. But Draco would not be able to bear the news that Ron was unfaithful, or that he had plans of his own which did not include Draco. How could he make Ron believe that if he were to keep still, it would be to avoid seeing Draco lose face, and perhaps revealing himself to be too weak to punish Ron? How could he convince Ron that his silence, even more, would be the result of his fear at seeing Draco's wrath turned against him, the bearer of ill tidings, the informer? How could he tell Ron that he would not say a word without giving the impression that he was making a mutual non-betrayal pact with him? For he knew Ron had the idea that H was terrified, terrified to death at what would happen to him if Ron talked.

From that point on, until they arrived home, they did not exchange another word.

When they walked into the big, whitewashed kitchen, they found that Draco was alone. His eyes fell on Ron and H knew that he saw nothing else, heard no one else.

"You're late. Severus is waiting for you in the next room," he added, nodding to H. "He needs you for something and he's not in a very good mood."

Ron burst out laughing, and H looked at him and turned red. "How appropriate! Snape no doubt learned that your obedient beauty isn't so obedient when you're not around. Look at his robes, you see how wrinkled they are?"

H was standing in the middle of the room, facing Draco. Draco told him to turn around but he couldn't; he was rooted to the spot.

"He also crosses his legs," Ron added, "but that you won't be able to see, of course. As you won't be able to see the way he accosts the boys."

"That's not true!" H shouted, infuriated by the accusation and afraid that Ron would be believed. "You're the one!"

Draco grabbed him just as he was about to hit Ron and kept him imprisoned within his arms as he struggled to break free. Ron had thrown himself down on the sofa, his face hardened with anger, and H could see that Draco, though he had his hands full trying to subdue H, had eyes only for Ron. H went on struggling until, lifting his head, he saw Severus standing in the doorway looking at him.

He ceased resisting and, crestfallen at the idea of having been found wanting in the presence of Severus, he repeated, this time almost in a whisper, "It's not true, I swear it's not true."

Without uttering a word, without so much as a glance at Ron, Severus made a sign to Draco to let H go, and for H to go into the other room. H moved with a heavy heart, certain that both Severus and Draco believed Ron. He did not know how to convince them of the truth without breaking Draco's heart. Even as he left the room, he could hear Ron's voice urgently assuring Draco that he hadn't, he wouldn't, that H was jealous and a liar. He wondered how severely he would be punished for this, or if Severus would repudiate him for infidelity.

But on the other side of the door, H was immediately pressed against the wall, his lips forced apart by Severus' insistent tongue, his robes hauled up to his waist by Severus' demanding hands. He moaned with happiness and deliverance, knowing that Severus believed him. His nipples stiffened beneath Severus' caress, and with his other hand Severus stroked his sex so roughly H thought he would faint. Would he ever dare to tell him that no pleasure, no joy, no figment of his imagination could ever compete with the happiness he felt at the way Severus used him with such utter freedom? Severus could do anything with him; there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on his body, he might search for pleasure. He was absolutely certainty of his love whenever Severus touched him, whether it was to fondle or flog him.

As he was there, pinned against the wall, his eyes closed, his lips murmuring "I love you" when he could find the breath to speak. Severus' hands, though they were as cool as the waters of a bubbling spring on the fire coursing through him from head to toe, made him burn even hotter. The fire exploded within and without, and H gasped his love and obedience.

Gently Severus released H, dropping his robes down over his moist thighs. "Come, H," he said, "I need you."

Then, opening his eyes, H noticed that they were not alone. Seated in a wicker chair on the terrace outside the living room was a portly little man with rumpled grey hair wearing a pinstriped suit and robes and a lime green bowler hat. He rose and moved toward Severus who was guiding H ahead of him. Severus politely introduced him to H simply as "Minister," with no name attached, and much to H's surprise the man shook his hand, the first time that had happened since he had returned from Hogwarts.

Severus walked over to one end of the fireplace and rang for the servants. On the table beside the sofa, H saw a bottle of whisky, some soda water, and glasses, so he was not ringing for something to drink. At the same time he noticed a large cardboard box on the floor beside the fireplace.

The Minister sat down on a chair and Severus was half-seated on the edge of the round table with one leg dangling. H, who had been motioned over to the sofa, meekly raised his robes and sat, feeling the prickly cotton of the roughly woven upholstery under his thighs.

It was Nora who came in. Severus ordered her to undress H and remove his clothing from the room. H allowed her to take off his robes, corset, and stockings. As soon as she had stripped H completely, Nora left, and H automatically reverted to the rules of Hogwarts, certain that all Severus wanted from him was perfect submissiveness. He remained standing in the middle of the room, eyes lowered, so that he sensed rather than saw Neville slip in through the open window, barefoot and silent. Severus had doubtless explained who he was and why he was there to his visitor as he merely mentioned Neville's name, to which the visitor did not respond, and asked Neville to make them a drink.

As soon as Neville had handed them whisky and soda, the Minister got up from his chair and walked over to H. H thought that, with his free hand, he was going to touch him but he did not, confining himself to scrutinizing H closely, from his parted lips to his parted knees. He circled him, studying his chest, his sex, his backside, inspecting him in detail but offering no comment. This careful scrutiny so overwhelmed H so that he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run away or fall to his knees.

So upset was he that he lost control and raised his eyes toward Severus, searching for help. He understood, smiled, came over and, taking both his hands, pulled them behind his back and held them in one of his. H leaned back against Severus, his eyes closed, and it was in a dream state that he heard the stranger complimenting Severus on him, paying special due to the iron rings and brands that marked him. At the same time, he learned that Severus had in all probability consented to lend him to the man the following week since he was thanking Severus for something. At which point Severus, taking him by the nape of the neck, gently told him to wake up and, with Neville, to go upstairs and wait in his room.

H had good reason to be upset after the scene with Ron and his perusal by a stranger, and he was annoyed at Neville who, elated at the prospect of seeing H opened by someone other than Severus, was doing a kind of wild dance around him and shouting, "Do you think he'll go into your mouth too, H? You should have seen the way he was looking at your mouth! Oh, how lucky you are to be desired like that! I'm sure that he'll whip you: he came back three times to those marks where you can see you've been whipped. At least you won't be thinking about Ron then!"

"I'm not thinking about Ron, you silly fool," H replied.

"No! I'm not silly and I'm not a fool. I know very well you miss him," the boy said.

What H missed was not, properly speaking, Ron, but the use of another's body, with no restrictions attached. If Neville had not been declared off-limits, he would have taken Neville, and the only reason he had not violated the restriction was his certainty that Neville would be given to him at Hogwarts in a few weeks' time. He said so to Neville, who only shook his head and refused to believe it.

How could he make Neville understand - and was it even worth the effort? - that it wasn't that he was in love with Ron, but that he always thought other boys were more lovely and desirable than he found himself to be. The pleasure he derived from seeing another boy pant beneath his caresses was more than he could bear, and if this pleasure was so intense, it was only because it made him constantly aware of the pleasure which he in turn gave when he tightened around whoever was taking him whenever he sighed or moaned.

Moreover, it seemed to him that the boys he caressed belonged by right to the man to whom he belonged, and that he was only present by proxy. Had Severus come into his room during one of those afternoons when Ron had been wont to nap with him and found H caressing him, he would have spread Ron's thighs and held them apart with both hands if it had pleased Severus to possess him, without the slightest remorse. He was a naturally trained bird of prey who would beat the game and always bring it back to the hunter. And speaking of which...

It was at this point that he heard Severus moving about in his room. He knew that Severus could see him although he could not see Severus, and once again he felt that he was fortunate indeed to be constantly exposed this way, constantly imprisoned by those all-encompassing eyes. When Severus pushed open the door, he turned around so abruptly that the dangling disk on his nipples struck the edge of the bureau and jingled.

"Neville," Severus said, "run downstairs and get the white cardboard box in the front living room."

When Neville came back, he set the box down on the bed, opened it, and one by one removed the objects inside, unwrapping the paper in which they were packed and handing them to Severus. They were masks and it was obvious they had been made to cover the entire head, with the exception of the mouth and chin and eyes. Sparrow-hawk, falcon, owl, fox, lion, bull: nothing but animal masks but scaled to the size of the human head, made of real fur and feathers, the eyes crowned with lashes when the actual animal had lashes (as the lion), and with the pelts or feathers descending to the shoulders of the person wearing them.

In front of the full-length mirror, H tried on each of the masks. The most striking, and the one he thought transformed him most and was also most natural, was one of the owl masks, no doubt because it was composed of white feathers whose colour blended beautifully with his skin. The cope of feathers almost completely concealed his shoulders, descending half way down his back and, in front to just above his nipples.

Severus said as he took off the mask, "All right, you'll be an owl for the Minister. But H, you'll be taken on a leash. Neville, go look in the top drawer of my desk; you'll find a chain and pliers."

Neville came back with the chain and pliers, which Severus used to fasten the chain around H's neck. The chain, similar to those used for dogs, was between four and five feet long with a leather strap on one end. After H had donned the mask, Severus told Neville to take the end of the chain and walk around the room, ahead of H. Three times Neville paraded around the room, trailing H behind by the leash, H being naked and masked.

"Well, I must say," Severus remarked, "the Minister was right; all the hair will have to be removed. But that can wait till later. Meanwhile, keep your chain on."

**

That evening, and for the first time in the company of Ron and Neville, of Draco and Severus, H dined naked, his chain wrapped around his waist. It was an uncomfortable meal; Draco was fawning over Ron, desperately trying to woo his attention. Ron was ignoring Draco, and both of them were ignoring H. Neville was nearly beside himself with delight at the prospect of going out somewhere with H and Severus. Only Severus was behaving normally, and H was grateful for his presence. Nora was alone in serving and H avoided her gaze.

The next day, Severus summoned the house elf and had her remove all the hair from H's body using wax. H worried about displeasing Severus who so enjoyed pulling him over by the hair about his sex, but he was mistaken. Severus seemed to find him even more appealing that way and, after he had donned his mask, caressed H almost timidly, the way one does with an animal one wants to tame.

Severus had told him nothing about the place to which he was taking him, nor indicated the time they would have to leave, nor had he said who the Minister's guests would be. But he spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping beside H, and in the evening had dinner brought up to the room, for the two of them alone.

It wasn't until later that H learned, from a gloating Neville, that Ron and Draco had had a screaming fight, and Ron had packed up and left. Draco had then apparently drunk until he'd passed out on the living room sofa.

They left an hour before midnight, traveling by broom with H swathed in a great black cloak belonging to his master and wearing wooden clogs on his feet. H rode with Severus while Neville followed them on his own broom. The moon was almost full and illuminated the countryside as they passed. There was nothing real about this country, which night had turned into make-believe, nothing except the smell of sage and lavender.

Severus landed the broom in the forecourt before a large mansion and handed the broom and H's cape and shoes into the keeping of an attendant waiting there for them. The door he pushed open revealed a walled courtyard with gardens and a terrace, and a winding walkway that led to the house. A dozen people were dancing on the terrace. A few women with very low-cut robes and men in colourful dress robes were seated at small tables lighted by candlelight. A string quartet played in the left hand gallery and a buffet table had been set up in the gallery to the right.

The moon provided as much light as the candles, and when it fell upon H, who was being led forward by Neville's hand on his leash, those who noticed him stopped dancing and the men got to their feet. The musicians, sensing that something was happening, looked over and stopped playing. H had come to a halt. Severus, motionless two steps behind him, was also waiting.

The Minister dispersed those who had gathered around H and called for torches so that they could examine him more closely.

"Who is he," they were saying, "who does he belong to?"

"You, if you like," the Minister replied, and Neville led H over to a corner of the terrace where a stone bench covered with cushions was set against a low wall. H was seated, his back against the wall, his hands lying on his knees, with Neville on the ground to the left of his feet, still holding onto the chain. H's eyes searched for Severus and at first could not find him. Then he sensed his presence and found him, reclining on a chaise lounge at the other corner of the terrace. He was able to see H, and H was reassured.

The music had resumed and the dancers were dancing again. As they danced, one or two couples moved over in his direction, as though by accident at first, then one of the couples dropped the pretense and, with the woman leading the way, marched boldly over. H stared at them with eyes that, beneath his plumage, were darkened with kohl, eyes opened wide like the eyes of the nocturnal bird he was impersonating, and the illusion was so extraordinary that no one thought of questioning him, which would have been the most natural thing to do, as though he were a real owl, deaf to human language, and dumb.

From midnight to dawn, which began to lighten the eastern sky at about five, people came up to him several times and some even touched him. They formed a circle around him several times, examined the irons on his chest and sex, bringing with them candlesticks, and he could feel the flames from the candles warming the inside of his thighs as they examined the inscription on the disks.

There was even one drunken American who, laughing, groped his chest, but when he realized that the iron ring pierced his flesh, H saw his face fill with horror and contempt; he turn and fled.

There was a girl, a girl with bare shoulders and a choker of pearls around her neck, wearing a white robe and golden slippers on her feet, and a boy made her sit down next to H, on his right. Then he took her hand and made her caress H's chest, touch his nipples, which quivered to the touch of the cool, light fingers, and touch his sex, the iron and the hole through which it passed. The young girl silently did as she was bid, and when the boy said he planned to do something like this to her, she did not seem shocked. But even though they thus made use of H, and even though they used him in this way as a model, the subject of a demonstration, not once did anyone ever speak to him directly.

Was he then made of stone or wax, or rather some creature from another world, and did they think it pointless to speak to him? Or didn't they dare? Was he only an object to be stared at, pointed out, whispered about? Did they not care that he was human, that he had a voice and feelings?

It was only after daybreak, after all the dancers had left, that Severus came back to his side. He awoke Neville who was asleep at H's feet and sent him off to bed. He helped H to his feet, led him to the middle of the courtyard, unfastened his chain and removed his mask and, laying him back upon a table, called him by name and possessed him.

**********************

Harry fell silent, and his lover wrapped his arms around Harry, drawing him closer. He knew without asking the bitterness Harry felt at being regarded as an object, a symbol rather than a person, being laid naked for the world to gawk at it. He kissed Harry's temple, murmured his name softly, and smiled when Harry turned his face up to be kissed.

"Is that it, then?" he asked softly. "Not a very happy ending for Ron or Draco."

Harry shrugged. His companion knew that he hadn't spoken to Ron since he'd stolen Draco away for no other apparent reason than that he'd belonged to Harry. Ron and Draco's spectacular break-up a few months later had done nothing to change that, although Draco's tentative overtures at rekindling their friendship had been warily accepted.

"And what about Severus and H?" his lover asked. "Is there a happy ending for them?"

Harry looked at the fire, avoiding his lover's eyes. "I don't think that chapter's been written yet. I think H returns to Hogwarts where he is abandoned by Severus." There was an almost inaudible protest from his lover and Harry said pensively, "Perhaps H, seeing that Severus was about to leave him, said he would prefer to die and Severus gave him his consent."

"Not a chance," his companion retorted, lifting Harry's face so that he had to meet his eyes. "Do you think he'd let H go after all the trouble, time, and expense he took to tame him?"

"Oi!" said Harry, whapping him on the chest. "Just who do you think tamed whom? Weren't you paying attention to my story? H clearly had Severus wrapped around his fingers."

"Oh, the delusions of the young," his lover said drily. "And although the picture of H with those rings is erotic, perhaps a more traditional type of bonding ring would be more appropriate in the real world."

Harry caught his breath and looked into his lover's eyes, and a grin lit up his face. "Yeah, it probably would."

His companion, his mate, pulled Harry's head down for a kiss. Harry responded enthusiastically, opening his mouth to deepen it. His lover's hands slid under Harry's dressing gown, over the firm and supply flesh of his back and buttocks. And on the smooth, rounded area, on either side of the cleft, with the tip of his finger, he traced his initials:

S S

The End

 


End file.
